The Vigil of Stendarr: Mehrunes' Razor
by DarthTrekkie2016
Summary: Two Vigilants of Stendarr go out on a slightly unusual request from the College of Winterhold. Little do they know this will drag them into events that will decide whether or not the entirety of Tamriel is destroyed. Together with another Vigilant and a disgraced Orc, they set out to stop the Prince of Destruction, traversing Cyrodiil and Morrowind to do so.
1. Chapter 1: Introductions

The Vigil of Stendarr

Mehrunes' Razor

Something of Note…

Obviously, writing a story set in a world such as an RPG (The Elder Scrolls in this case) can be a difficult thing, seeing as the world is built depending on your actions: Does the Dragonborn side with the vampires or the Dawnguard? Do the Imperials or the Stormcloaks win the war? Does the Dragonborn actually go after Alduin, or does he decide to become a master thief/assassin and never thinks about Helgen again as he spends his nights with his wife and kids? DOES ALISTAIR BECOME KING?!

...As this is the case, I have thought up a brilliant solution. I call this solution "Fuck it". (Pardon my language, cover your eyes kids.) That's right. This is practically an alternate reality. There are no Stormcloaks, and as such they won't ever be mentioned further, save perhaps if I start another part with one of these. There also is no Dragonborn as we know it. But the story of that will become clear in time.

Allow me some time to set up the world for you all. The Aldmeri Dominion is still one of the most powerful nations in Tamriel, if not _the_ most powerful. The only problem facing them is Elsweyr's war for independance. Their control over the Bosmer in Valenwood is still strong. The Empire, on the other hand, has lost much power and land. Hammerfell and High Rock are bound in a series of alliances and treaties, mostly to protect themselves from the Empire and Dominion. Black Marsh is independent, and no one has been able to conquer them due to the harsh fighting conditions and terrain of the lands. Morrowind is independent, though constantly embroiled in civil wars and other internal conflicts. Skyrim is still firmly in the hands of the Empire. Cyrodiil is still quite strong, even without their Nord allies. The war between the Empire and Dominion ended in a white peace 10 years ago. As such, neither have recovered enough to warrant planning another war. As a side note, I mean it when I say there was a white peace. There was no White-Gold Concordant.

In the last of my long-winded explanations, the Vigil of Stendarr is an order of warriors in service to one of the many gods in the Elder Scrolls world, Stendarr, god of righteous might and merciful forbearance. He is viewed primarily as protector of the weak. This is exactly what the Vigil is, as they constantly battle monsters and Deadra, protecting the innocent and weak of Tamriel wherever they can. And now…

Chapter 1: Introductions

As the lone elf sat…

As the lone elf sat, reading for probably the sixth time the same page of _A Dance in Fire_ , a soft wind blew. This is what it looked like to the average student at the College of Winterhold. Here, he was looked at less as a Dunmer, which were typically either hated or feared in Skyrim, and more as a friend. The Khajiit he had considered his brother since his days as a child in Riften, Jo'Raska, had become a very prominent mage here. Naturally his friendship with him already permitted him the politeness of the students. Now, however, they likely accepted him for what he was doing rather than for his knowing someone. For the sixth time now, his eyes scanned the walkway that ran from the village of Winterhold to the college. He wasn't on edge, but he was growing annoyed. How long was he expected to wait anyhow? At last, he spotted a person making the cross. Even if he couldn't recognize the traditional robes of the Vigil, the reptilian tail prompted the elf to rise.

The Argonian had traveled quite a ways from Markarth to the College on business. The Vigil had granted him a small leave, and he gladly had taken advantage of it. However, their calling upon him likely meant serious trouble. He had read the briefing letter exactly twice, once for all the details on the mission, and once for all the details on his partner: Galeven Nuledri. An interesting Dark Elf, with a long and successful history of vampire-hunting. Surely one of the more interesting people he'd been ordered to work with.

The mission was a direct request from the Archmage of the College, which certainly inspired an air of importance about the thing. According to the Archmage's letter, there had been three raids on Winterhold in the past month. The assailants were mentioned frequently, but only ever as "beasts". No more information on them was given. This refusal to give more on the subject led the Vigil to, fairly enough, assess that magic was involved, and most likely so was the College. So they decided to send two of their most accomplished monster-slayers to fulfill the request. Galeven Nuledri, the Dark Elf vampire hunter, and Renmar Delahar, the Argonian whose bow could fell a giant with one well-placed shot. Whatever kind of beast dared threaten Winterhold would be swiftly dealt with by these two. However, the Vigil was well aware that the two of them were… The odd ones, to say the least, of their order. No amount of praying would keep them from somehow making fools of themselves. Regardless, they were capable in combat, and had accomplished some incredible feats to earn them the respect they did have.

And so, Renmar ascended the final few stairs of the crossing. He was rather eager to meet this Galeven. As per custom, despite his new partner's experience, the lizard was fully intent upon establishing himself as the leader of this expedition. It wasn't a true necessity, but rather a luxury. Should his partner agree to the terms, Renmar could surely earn himself a notable larger share of the loot, or at the least the glory. As Galeven approached, Renmar's script for asserting his dominance was already being rehearsed in his head.

"Excuse me sir, I am looking for a colleague of mine. His name is Galeven Nuledri. Are you he?" His voice was hushed, and had a slight rasp to it.

Galeven tucked away his book into his travel-pack. "Indeed, I am. So then you are Renmar, no?"

Renmar nodded. "Yes. Now before we receive any briefing, or go into any combat, let me make one thing clear. I am a marksman of the highest quality. If you get in my way, and this can mean literally, so take note, you will be hurt. I am in charge here. I have more experience, more knowledge of this place, and most certainly more value. I-"

To show his seriousness, he had thrown his foot down. Before doing so, Renmar had forgotten that he hadn't yet left the stairs. His foot narrowly missed the step, and he lost his balance, tumbling. He had most certainly realized where he had been standing now. His hood was thrown back as he tumbled, revealing the bright green scales and their faint orange patterning. The patterns make a vague smiley face on his forehead. All Galeven could think about was how absurd it was that this was the giant slayer he had heard so much of. He goes to help the Argonian to his feet, stifling a laugh as he does so.

"Of course, of course sir. You are, after all, the giant slayer. How could one such as I live up to the reputation that precedes you? Oh, I know." Galeven drew one of the war-axes from his side. Around its handle were bindings, decorated with a small collection of fangs. Sixteen to be exact. "Each of these has been taken from a vampire lord, shortly preceding their untimely demise. Do you know how hard it is to take one of these before the bastards turn to dust?"

Renmar clambered to his feet. "Oh please. I can stand on my own! Honestly…" He picked up one of the arrows that fell from his quiver as he fell. It had a faint red glow about it. Clearly, thought Renmar, that chance for dominance is most certainly blown.

Before any more is said between the two, Galeven motions toward a student by the doors. He stands there waving the two over. They quickly cross the courtyard, exchanging greetings with the young Khajiit mage.

Galeven smiled, shaking his hand."Jo, it's been far too long since our last meeting. How's the school treated you?" The last time they had met, Jo'Raska and other magi had helped the Vigil fend a small horde of undead away from Dawnstar. That had been four months back.

"Ah yes, things are going rather well." Jo'Raska spoke softly, his accent strong. Even growing up in Riften, he stayed true to his cultural heritage. "Save for some of the recent activity below. But of course, that is why you are here, no? The Archmage has ordered me to accompany you, as he knew the Vigil hadn't sent a mage. I do hope the matter is resolved quickly, I am doing some incredibly important research."

The group spent the morning discussing their mission. The creatures would come down from the nearby mountains, snatch up civilians, and disappear. Whenever the College went to help, the monsters fled, so they hadn't been properly identified. Nevertheless, the Archmage felt he knew the place the beasts resided. The tallest within its respective range, Mount Anthor had always been a place of evil. Legend had it that it was used long ago as the den for the dragon Numinex. Due to its dark and shrouded past, there had been a string of cult activity, among other evils. The Vigil had reportedly scaled the mountain and cleared the temple at its peak no less than five decades ago.

Renmar spoke up. "The Archmage is sure these things come from Mount Anthor? You know, there are other mountains in the range."

"Yes, but you see, with the history that mountain has, and its strong connection to past evils, the Archmage simply sees it best that we investigate there first. Besides, it is the easiest of those mountains to climb." Jo'Raska smiled a little.

So they agreed that they would make way to Mount Anthor. However, it would be foolish to begin their journey without first stocking up on supplies. Therefore, the three climbed aboard a carriage, bound for Fort Kastav, at the foot of the mountains. The Imperial garrison there was friendly with the Vigil (as most right-minded people are). The fort had also fallen under attack from the creatures as of recent, so this would be an excellent opportunity to learn more about their adversaries.

An hour before night fell, the carriage came to a halt in the fort's courtyard. Training drills were being held all around, and evidently around the clock, as the soldiers seemed exhausted. The men on the walls looked down with pity, surely feeling quite lucky they aren't in their comrades' shoes. The legate in charge came to welcome them.

"Welcome, Vigilants. We hope you were not troubled during your transportation?" The legate was a tall man, and a pure blooded Imperial from the heartland of Cyrodil. His heavy armor gleamed in the waning light of the sun, as Masser began its steady rise opposite it. "That is, we hope for everyone's sake. The creatures attack only at night. We know this from experience. They carried off some good men in their last attack. I pray to the Nine they're dead, for I don't dare imagine what they might go through…" He fell silent briefly. "Anyway, if you were attacked, that would mean they're getting bolder. That's all I meant."

Renmar answered the man, as Galeven's eye seemed quickly drawn to something else. "No, we had a very relaxing ride. No worries sir, I understand your concern. With luck, and the blessings of the Divines, we'll have this whole mess cleaned up soon enough. Now, since we'll be waiting until nightfall… Where do you keep your ale?"

As the two discussed the fort's alcohol storage, Galeven found himself following another person behind a small pile of boxes. Within them were plentiful supplies: Bread, carrots, cabbages, various potions, a sharpening stone, and twenty-five more arrows for Renmar. However, Galeven was too preoccupied to fully register this, as he turned the corner straight into a familiar face…

End Chapter 1

Subsequent chapters in the works will be added upon completion & revision. All critique and feedback is encouraged.


	2. Chapter 2: The Battle for Fort Kastav

Chapter 2: The Battle for Fort Kastav

Kataia?...

"Kataia?" _**SMACK!**_ The whole courtyard fell silent. Save for Renmar, who attempted once to get the attention of the legate back on him before finally turning. There, fallen in the snow, was Galeven. The look on his face was somewhere between furious and completely lost. Whatever the case, his right cheek seemed darker, as if it were already bruising.

A Redguard woman with long dark brown hair stood over him. Her eyes were a dark brown, but still displayed a rage so powerful it could make one see them as burning red. A spiraling design of black war paint wrapped around her eye. The robes of the Vigil were lightly dusted with the snow. The fury she embodied was enough to shake even the hardened soldiers of the garrison. Suddenly, she smiled. "And **that** was for leaving Hammerfell without prior notice. I view that as abandoning your post."

Galeven rose to his feet, still covering his bruise. "Why don't you hit the people who made that decision then, and not the guy who's just following orders? I only left because the Vigil wanted me in Skyrim. Besides, I had a feeling that's how you'd react, even then."

Her brow furrowed. "I don't care. I would've at least been a bit gentler then. And I might have come with you, you know? Gods, do you ever think about the future?"

"Not at all. The present is far too interesting for me to turn my attention away from it." He smiled, clearly having regained his composure.

The group gathered up, Galeven introducing Kataia to Renmar and Jo. After some brief exchanges of experience and a bit more bickering they were shuttled into the fort's bar. The four were given food and drink. The food was utterly disappointing in every sense of the word. The drink was cheap, but adequate. Standard garrison provisions.

The legate finally had a chance to properly introduce himself. "I'm legate Amaotus. I was put in charge of Kastav just a few weeks ago. Already, things have been utter chaos. Those creatures fight hard. Even better, they aren't acting alone. Whenever they come down to attack, they are accompanied by dark-clad warriors. We haven't killed any of them. And when we kill their little pets, they-"

Galeven interjected. "Turn to dust? Because if they do, then you have nothing to fear sir. My specialty is-"

He was in turn interrupted by the legate. "No. They do burn, but unlike vampires, they turn into a gas. Or some sort of vapor maybe. And besides, if they were vampires, I'd call them vampires. I've seen a few of those in my lifetime. Not to say I'd like to see more of them."

The party fell silent for a short while. Galeven ran through what he knew about vampires. Both death hounds and gargoyles were known pets of theirs, but neither turned into a gas or vapor upon death. This was outside his area of knowledge. Slowly, one by one, all eyes in the party were on Jo'Raska. Save for his own. That would be weird.

Once he realized they were looking at him, Jo thought hard. He gave his response slowly, seeming to think on it even as he spoke. "I don't know of any creatures that I've heard can be summoned dying quite like that. This could be an interesting subject for future research though."

"So…" Amaotus spoke up once more. "How exactly are you going to proceed? I mean, how can we expect you to fight something you can't even identify, let alone plan against?"

Galeven smirked and rose. "Please sir. Part of our job description is the fighting of Deadra. I'm sure next to that, this'll be no trouble whatsoever. Now then, do you post a night watch?" Amaotus nodded, appearing almost offended that anyone would think the answer might be no. "Excellent. And an alarm system? A bell, perhaps a sort of call?" The legate gave a brief description of the different meanings for a few different bell signals of the fort. "Splendid. In that case, I suggest myself and my companions retire for an hour or so of rest."

To this, Amaotus responded in a frustrated tone. "You mean to sleep? What if we come under attack? Shouldn't you of all people be on high alert?"

Galeven wasn't even slightly fazed by the legate's harsh tone. "We, of all people, require rest. We will need our energy. And we will most certainly be attacked. According to our reports, the beasts have attacked on the tenth, the fifteenth, and the twentieth, no? Today is the twenty-fifth. Should their pattern be maintained, there will be another attack. And this time, they'll descend straight into the Vigil's waiting hands."

The rest of the soldiers in the room turned to Amaotus. The legate was well known for his short fuse, and for his stubbornness. However, he was also one of the most pious of those within the fort. No matter how they viewed his authority, they were servants to the Divines. Surely they were in the right. With great effort, Amaotus calmed himself, and agreed to allow them their rest. "Should we fall under attack the bells will sound three times. If that happens, I expect you out in the courtyard, fighting with us."

Renmar nodded. "Trust us. When we fall under attack, I'll be the first to bring one of the monsters down." The group then retired to their respective rooms, generously lent to them by the garrison. Galeven resumed reading his book, Kataia sharpened here scimitar, and Renmar passed out almost immediately. Jo'Raska hurriedly penned a report of the day, and sent it via hawk, which had until five minutes ago lived its "life" as a spoon. Another advancement Jo had made upon discovering his passion for magic.

One hour later…

Thrice the bell tolled. Out from the doors to the barracks burst the garrison, led curiously enough by the Vigilants, even though they had been resting in the rooms farthest back from the doors. Renmar, not even taking the time to aim, fired his first shot. Despite having originally been fired just to the left of the gargoyle atop the wall, it seemingly redirected itself straight into the creature's pointed ear. It died immediately. Seconds after doing so, the thing seemed as if to evaporate.

"So it is vampires. I'll admit, that's a new thing for gargoyles. Nevertheless, knowing what I'm dealing with…" He drew his left war axe, with its strings of fangs around its hilt. "Killing them will be all the more rewarding." He practically threw himself at another gargoyle, which had landed only feet away from him. The axe dug into its shoulder, and a harsh hissing and popping emanated from the wound. The blade seemed to effortlessly dig into the gargoyle, burning its way through the beast. Soon, it evaporated around the weapon.

"Oh, now there's a fancy blade. How'd you do that?" Renmar asked as he fired three shots off at once. With normal arrows, and a normal bow, it would have failed comically and without question. However, the arrows once again seemed to simply self-correct their course, felling three more gargoyles. The air above the fort was now seemingly devoid of stars, as they were obscured by the dark clouds of slain monsters.

Jo'Raska, though a mage, was known at the College for being fully capable of outmatching many in a physical fight. He spun wildly with a short steel sword, etched with Khajiit historical symbols, pausing in this whirl of metal only to fire bolts of fire and lightning. Nearby, defending the carriage and driver, was Kataia, her scimitar singing through the cold air, biting into both enemy monster and man.

The gargoyles were now accompanied by a large group of lightly armored, fast moving, cloaked humanoids. There were a few Khajjit in the group, judging from the occasional swish of a tail amidst the clashing of steel. Their appearance had almost gone unnoticed until one found himself face to face with Galeven. "So, you're the ringleaders? Excellent." He took a wide swing with his blade. The hood of the enemy was thrown back, revealing a fresh gash down his neck. "Oh, just a regular old wound? Guess you aren't vampires then. That's a bit of a shame. Still." He drew his second axe, quickly throwing it into his enemy's chest.

Not far from this exchange, legate Amaotus and his men were fighting to maintain control of the gates. There were even more cloaked figures outside, waiting for their comrades to let them in. The soldiers of the garrison with heavy armor dropped down upon the enemy. The enemies were quick and skilled with their weapons, but their armor was pitifully lacking. Those who weren't cut down retreated up the mountain. One of them, likely in some state of command, blew a horn to call upon the rest of his fellows.

Realizing that not only were they taking losses, but a large number of them, the cloaked figures remaining in the fight left as quickly as they came. The remaining gargoyles covered their retreat. After their masters had vanished, even those that hadn't been struck seemingly burnt away into the night.

The attack had been fierce, on point, and quick. The carriage had been set alight, but thanks to Kataia the poor civilian had survived what was likely the most traumatic moment of his life to date. There had been a total of sixty-three losses on both sides, not counting the gargoyles. Of these, forty-five were imperial soldiers. Though they had killed the cloaks, for the first time out of these attacks, the fighting took a far greater toll. Amaotus spoke up. "Well, we managed to finally kill a few of them too. Thing is, there were at least double the number we usually get here tonight. So despite our killing their monsters, there are actually more of them…"

Kataia placed a hand on the legate's shoulder, handing him one of the party's healing potions. "Don't worry. We're heading up there tonight. Whatever they're doing, we'll stop it, and we'll make sure to kill at least as many as you've lost. I swear it."

Jo'Raska nods, magically closing an injured soldiers wounds. "Yes sir, we assure you this matter will be resolved. The group behind this assault, and those prior, will be made to pay at our hands. Right?"

The two turned to Galeven and Renmar. The two of them, however, weren't paying their companions or allies any mind. They were caught up in a rather heated argument about who killed what.

"I'm telling you, my arrow was the thing that put her down. I mean no disrespect to your talent, and I know vampires are your forte, but this one's mine." Renmar pulled his arrow out of the stone wall as he finished this statement.

"Listen Ren, just because you hit it doesn't mean you killed it! I'm telling you, you pinned it there, but the kill blow was mine. I took its head right off. I'd keep it as a trophy, but for one thing it would scare children, and for another it evaporated." Galeven sat cleaning his right war axe.

Amaotus stood puzzled. He turned to Kataia, who explained. "Oh, never mind. That's just how Gal is. And it looks like he's found someone else just like him. How… Wonderful." Jo'Raska couldn't help but laugh. "These are the people the Vigil sends to stop chaos like this?" He thought. "Sure, Kataia seems capable, but there's no way she could keep these two in check."

After a short meal, legate Amaotus bid the Vigilants farewell, and the party began their ascent. That day would mark the beginning of a dark time for Tamriel. The events about to transpire would kick off a two year period of turmoil and strife throughout all of Tamriel. That day would be a day on Mount Anthor no one present would ever forget...

End Chapter 2

Subsequent chapters in the works will be added upon completion & revision. All critique and feedback is encouraged.


	3. Chapter 3: A Day on Mount Anthor

Chapter 3: A Day on Mount Anthor

Magnus was cresting the horizon…

Magnus was cresting the horizon as the companions began their ascent. Though the attack had indeed come at night, it had ended only an hour and a half before the dawn. The snow crunched underfoot as the four solemnly followed the tracks of the assailants. There were occasional trails of red following certain tracks, showing that at least three of those who retreated had been injured.

Jo'Raska fell behind to where Galeven was walking. "So, if you aren't too burdened by my asking, who is this Kataia? I mean, how do you know her?"

Galeven was still lightly bruised from her introduction. Luckily enough, this was the only injury he had sustained during their stay at Kastav. "Oh, she's just an old partner. We were fighting vampires and cultists back in Hammerfell for a few months. I eventually was called back to Skyrim to do much of the same thing, just in the snow rather than sand. It was quite a sudden problem; I really had no choice but to leave without notice."

Jo eyed Kataia suspiciously. "Well, alright. But why would that matter so much? I thought such things were common within the Vigil. Are you not always travelling?"

"True on both accounts." Galeven nodded, running his hand through his hair to get out some of the freshly-fallen snow. "Thing is, I suppose we weren't your regular company. Even the others had all paired up quite similarly. Something the native warriors would do. And, well… I know you well enough to know you've already figured out what I mean."

Jo'Raska chuckled. "And now you're even in my head. Gods, am I that easy to read?"

"I can see it in your eyes. Plus, have you already forgotten how we spent most of our time in Riften? And you had the best reasoning too. They wouldn't have built windows on their bath chambers unless they were meant to be used, you would say. "

The two shared another laugh. As the group climbed, the sun rose slowly. Eventually, when they were nearing the peak, their eyes were drawn to a large cave. They had almost passed it by, until Kataia had spotted a light coming from inside. Upon entering it, and turning a bend in the cave, they found it sommothed out into the corridors of a sort of catacomb.

Kataia removed a torch from the wall and took the lead. Jo'Raska summoned a faint magelight to illuminate their rear. Jo, as he ran his hand along some carvings in the walls, called ahead. "Do you think this area is somehow connected to the ruins near the peak? Perhaps these are some catacombs that were previously sealed. After all, there were no reported caves up this high."

Galeven noded. "That's true. There've been a few minor quakes in these parts, and an avalanche in these mountains isn't exactly uncommon. Through a combination of those two, the walls might have collapsed out."

Renmar, however, seemed to think otherwise. "That wouldn't exactly explain the good many feet of cave we walked through. Sure, an earthquake might have opened this place up, but really only if it were closer to the actual mountain's sides."

They continued on in silence for a while. Though there was the occasional torch throughout the hall, visibility was still hardly at normal levels. The only one fully capable of seeing was Jo, which he flaunted as he warned the others of cracks and bumps on the walkway, usually a second after they had tripped on them. Finally Kataia said something about their new surroundings. "So if a quake wouldn't explain it, do you think these creatures, or maybe their masters, dug that cave out themselves?"

The others pondered for a short while. Ren seemed to believe that was too unrealistic. "Well, think about that for a second. Even with the strength of a gargoyle, digging through solid rock for that distance, would take a good long while. And even if we cleared the mountain a long time ago, until the attacks started this was still a very popular climbing spot. Wouldn't there have been more of a warning from the climbers about the hole appearing slowly?"

They rounded another corner, and began ascending a large, twisting staircase. After a minute or two of climbing, Jo decided to speak his mind as well. "True. Working with mere physical strength, even with that of the gargoyles, would take too long and be discovered. But who said that they were restricted to physical strength? If these people, who we are convinced now are not vampires, can command gargoyles, wouldn't it be reasonable to assume they have command of some strong magic?"

Finally, they poured out into a small room, with old rotting wood furniture, and strange tapestries hung from the walls. Suddenly, from nowhere, a cold wind blew and the torch in Kataia's hand was extinguished. There was a thud, and a loud scratching of claws. Within seconds, Jo'Raska's hand closed tightly around he magelight, and the room was shrouded in darkness. The party had no hope of fighting what they could not see…

Some time later…

Kataia awoke first out of the group. The air was suddenly much warmer than it had been since they entered the mountain. Her view was of a large pit, with a small walkway hanging over it. In the center of this walkway were three hooded figures, all in dark back robes. Reviewing the room, she noted it was primarily lit up with a large amount of candles. All around the pit stood other people in cloaks. She noted that, of the faces she could make out, there were men and women from a large selection of races. Etched upon the inner edges of the pit were strange magical sigil, which glowed a faint blue.

As Galeven awoke, his immediate reaction was to reach for his coin purse. Growing up in Riften taught some important life lessons. One of which was to always have an eye or a hand on your money. Unfortunately, he could not find it, primarily due to the fact that he was unable to move his hands. Looking up, he saw that there was a stone pillar behind him. Quickly realizing his situation's seriousness, he looked about to see if he could spot his other companions. Directly across from him on the other side of the pit was Kataia. She was apparently in the same situation he was in. To his left was Renmar.

Renamar too was bound to a pillar. His bindings in particular were unique, as whoever had tied them had taken the time and care as to bind his tail to the pillar as well. And so the three were, separated from one another, facing a vast and obviously somehow magical pit. Perhaps it was simply due to the rush of already very complicated and worrying thoughts running through their minds, but the fact that one of their party was absent hadn't quite hit them yet.

Suddenly, the three began to speak. The man on the left (from Renmar's perspective, as he had a view looking directly at them while Galeven and Kataia viewed from the sides)spoke in a course, deep voice. As he did so, he lowered his hood. He was an Orc, likely in his late twenties, with what seemed to be a lace adorned with arrowheads around his neck. "When I will walk the earth again, the faithful among you shall receive your reward: to be set above all other mortals forever…"

The right-most now spoke, lowering her hood. She was a High Elf, however she spoke without the typical accent of the Isle. Her eyes were aglow with light, and her skin was deathly pale. For some reason at her reveal, Galeven uttered a hushed "I knew it!" before she continued what the first had said. "As for the rest: the weak shall be winnowed, the timid shall be cast down…"

The third now followed suit. The accent and tone were unmistakable to the three captives. A tail swished out from beneath the dark robe, and the hood was cast back. Jo'Raska completed the verse. "And the mighty shall tremble at my feet, and pray for pardon." The glow of the sigil intensified, and the room heated up even more. From the pit rose a faint bubbling noise.

Jo'Raska continued his speech. "Brothers and sisters, we have labored long to make this possible. For months, we gathered the material to be used in our ritual. For our creation to see, we acquired the most flawless pieces of emerald for use as eyes. For its teeth, daggers crafted from ebony, and forged in secret atop Mount Anthor. To pump our beast's blood, we bestowed upon it four Daedra hearts. To seal them away, a cage of steel from the legendary Skyforge will act as its ribs. Once more, we mined the ebony from Mount Anthor, and gave many ingots to assemble as the beast's horns, claws and scales. Only two things more were required."

Those gathered around the mouth of the pit now drew forth two black soul gems each. They all cast them down into the pit. Now, the sigil turned a bright red. A pulse seemed to emanate throughout the chamber, and heat surged from below. Jo narrated as this happened. "Firstly: The souls and bodies of a hundred unwilling, to give meat to the beast's bones, and rage to its hearts. Lastly, and most importantly..." He fell silent.

The Orc next to him drew out a large ceremonial knife. The Elf, a black soul gem. Jo'Raska's voice echoed once more throughout the room, accompanied only by the sound of boiling that grew ever louder from the pit's depths. "The soul of a loyal follower, to ensure the beast remains under the control of our order. To wet its claws with the blood of our foes, and to stay its rage in the wake of our followers. To serve the will and orders of our lord, Mehrunes Dagon."

The three companions watched in stunned silence, as the man who had only a day before healed the wounded and slain the very people he now worked with, was run through the chest with the blade. The black soul gem illuminated faintly, and his eyes darkened. As his body fell to the floor of the walkway, the High Elf released her hold of the gem. The instant it fell out of view, the sigil once more changed. This time, they went a vivid white for a split second, and then faded. The light had blinded all those present for a few seconds. After their sight had returned to them, the two remaining leaders ordered everyone to leave the mountain at once. The elf spoke to the now captive Vigilants. "Feel honored, you three. You will be the first to behold the newest creation of Mehrunes Dagon. Should you survive, I want you to tell me all about it." She laughed as she strode away, throwing shut a heavy metal door.

Suddenly, quakes and tremors began to shoot through the chamber. The ceiling of it, carved from nothing but the mountain rock, began to crack here and there. As the tremors increased in magnitude, and became more and more regular, the party desperately struggled to remove their bonds. The first one out was Galeven.

"Okay, how in Oblivion did you manage that? I can't even feel my hands, let alone use them!" Kataia shouted angrily from across the pit. The Vigilants' desperation only grew as the tremors continued to get worse. "I grew up in Riften. Even if you aren't in the guild, you still typically get a taste for stealing." Galeven called out as he rushed to Renmar, not daring to cross the walkway to Kataia, as cracks began to form where it met the edges. As he unbound Renmar an extremely violent quake caused the pillar holding Kataia to shatter, allowing her to rush to join them. The three of them, with Kataia's hands still bound, threw themselves against the door. It flew open and they fell through, just as a massive, gleaming, scaled claw arose from the pit. The walkway then collapsed due to the tremors. Before Jo'Raska's body fell out of sight, a head shot up, and the massive monster's jaws swallowed him whole. As it clambered out of its hole, it spread its dark, shadowy wings.

Renmar whispered, only just loud enough to be audible to his companions. "By the Nine… That's… That's a huge dragon!" Just as he finished, the ebon dragon unleashed a roar that shook the walls of the chamber even more. In the confined corridors, the sound was only made louder; deafening the three as they threw shut the door. As quickly as they could, they threw down the metal beam to do their best at containing the dragon. Without a second thought, and with no sound from them save for their panting, they scrambled down the hall, eventually finding the way they had come in. Another massive quake started and seamed to shake the whole mountain. A massive crashing was heard behind them.

When they reached the opening they found two cultists, two young Nords, trying to pack the party's gear into a pack far too small. The three Vigilants remained hidden behind them, staying in the dark, as the men struggled. "Come on Forvur! Let's just leave them! What's the point in trying to take them anyway? This slope could crumble at any time!" The other looked to him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded. "You're right. Sorry. Let's hurry down then."

As the two men rushed down the slopes, the Vigilants took back their weapons, potions, and supplies. Only one thing was missing. "Oh Gods, where's my bow? They took my bow!" Renmar was utterly distraught. The other two calmed him down as the shaking stopped, and the sound of the avalanche of snow outside was gone. The three rose slowly. Suddenly a roar filled the air, but quieter, and farther away.

Kataia whispered, quieted by horror. "No… It got out…" The three rushed to the edge, overlooking a distance for many miles. Below them the men Fort Kastav were attempting to intercept the escaping cultists. Beyond that, those who left first were leaving already on horseback. And far, far in the distance, was the city of Windhelm. From the city, smoke was rising, and the great black dragon could only just be made out in front of the red glow...

End Chapter 3

Subsequent chapters in the works will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique and feedback is encouraged.


	4. Chapter 4: The Ebon Beast

Chapter 4: The Ebon Beast

Eisida had lived her life…

Eisida had lived her life as a warrior. Her father had been a captain in the Imperial army in charge of a successful and renowned company. He had taught to her the importance of being strong. Before he left to fight in the war against the Dominion, knowing full well the likelihood of his death, he had left her two gifts. One, for her tenth birthday: A small Skyforge steel dagger. The second, for her sixteenth: A well made and excellently maintained imperial sword.

She had always wanted to be like her father. When she was only eight years of age, however, he and his company had been killed in a Dominion ambush somewhere in Southern Cyrodiil. That was two years before the peace. Now she was twenty, and she was eager for action.

The war between the Empire and Dominion, although having ended after five years of conflict, cost both sides immensely in lives. The current Emperor and the current heads of the Thalmor were hesitant to begin again. But the armies of both nations were desperate for a chance at revenge.

Due to the Empire not maintaining the majority of their armies, Eisida had returned home to Windhelm after her training. She had been offered a post at Fort Greenwall, but she had wanted to remain closer to home. Therefore she remained in the reserve, but refused to lay down her sword. Instead she signed onto the Windhelm city guard. Despite dealing on occasion with the Orc stronghold's disagreements with the nearby farmers, she had enjoyed relative quiet.

With the unusual occurrences in and around Winterhold, her sister cities of Dawnstar and Windhelm had made sure to be at the ready. However as of yet nothing dramatic or exciting had happened. Rather, Windhelm enjoyed a feeling of reassurance, as so far the cultists found by the guards had been young and generally inept. Therefore, Eisida and her fellow guard payed little mind to the stories of horrors being committed in the distant mountains.

But then, on that day, the nineteenth of Frostfall, even the darkest of the stories were overshadowed by what came forth from the mountains. Though there were still some dragons in existence, they were weak, and a moderately sized and organized group could easily take one down. This being the case there were no real defenses in place should a dragon attack a city. After all, why would the beasts attack the most concentrated areas, where there were vast numbers of people longing for a fight? Seeming to realize this fact themselves what dragons there were remained atop their mountains, guarding their treasures, and occasionally descending to snatch some livestock.

Around midday, the quakes began. At first they were faint, and snow was visibly falling from Mount Anthor. The people were sure it would pass. Ten minutes later the quaking had only intensified. People had gathered in the city square, growing more and more concerned for their safety. Another ten minutes passed. A massive explosion of snow and rock was just visible to the people of Windhelm, somewhere close to the peak of Mount Anthor. Massive black boulders and a sheet of blinding white snow fell. Out of it, what looked to be another boulder flew not downward, but straight. It grew slowly over time. Then the great ebon dragon extended its massive, jagged wings. People were streaming across the bridge, scrambling to escape the city. All guards were called from their posts, and those with bows were put on the west walls to try and call its attention away from any still fleeing. Those without, including Eisida, were rushing throughout the city searching for any remaining citizens, and sending those they found away.

Finally, the monster reached its target. The three volleys of arrows fired from the wall had no effect, not even the distraction of the dragon. Instead, it collided with awe-inspiring speed head first into the great bridge. Rock, snow, and a few dozen people were sent flying as the spot the dragon had hit was blown away. The dragon emerged on the other side, seemingly unfazed, and flew off east. Then it circled back and began its attack on the city. Despite the best efforts of the guards, there were still countless people within the city's walls, accompanied by the majority of the guard force.

The great black shadow passed over the city. A wave of fire followed it. The fire of dragons is even more dangerous than regular magic fires, and can remain burning for long periods, even on snow and rock. Windows were shattered by the heat, wooden carts and market stalls were blow apart in the ferocity of the wind from the dragon's wing beats. Those unfortunate enough to be caught in the fires were only unfortunate for half a moment longer. Those nearby were thrown backward. The guardsmen clambered to their feet. Suddenly, out from the fire, seemingly breaking out of the stone walkways, emerged large, horned, feral looking creatures. Their claws seemed as long as their fingers. Fangs jutted out from their mouths. Two jagged, misshapen wings extruded from their backs. Gargoyles.

As one of the monsters leaped for one of the citizens, Eisida charged into its side, throwing them both to the ground. Before the gargoyle could respond with force, her blade was thrust into the creature's ribs. Its eyes darkened, and it evaporated around her, engulfing her in a dark mist. It poured into her helmet. It was odorless, but it stung her eyes and burned at her throat. As another guard crushed the second gargoyles spine with a well-placed swing of his mace, Eisida tore off her helmet and cast it aside, gasping for the bitterly cold winter air.

The dragon had now set fire to the Palace of the Kings, and had taken to fighting those on the wall with tooth and claw. Its tail swung wildly, obliterating a tower and sending debris into the streets. People were cowering in hoses, running for the docks. Some had even decided to risk leaping into the river below, which now had several convenient and large holes in the ice.

Eisida rose, leaning somewhat on a helpful guardsman. Both understood that this was no time for words, and ran into the city square, where screams could be heard. The clashing of guards and monsters in the square took place mere feet away from where the citizens stood. There had already been casualties among the people, both guards and innocents. Blood stained the snow crimson and the sky was blotted out by the smoke. However, everything appeared nearly as bright as before, as light was cast from all directions by several large fires.

A great flapping of wings was heard, and the dragon once more took to the skies. It pushed itself up off of a building, and parts of the roof and walls came crashing down into the street. Although there were surely some people now buried beneath this ruin, it had thankfully separated the gargoyles from the people. Unfortunately, now Eisida and only two other guards were left to face off against the eight remaining monsters. Suddenly, from over her shoulder, a great bolt of lightning cracked through the smoky air. It struck one of the beasts, causing it to erupt into a puff of vapor. Behind the guards stood a hooded figure, standing upon an upside-down cart. One of his arms was extended, with his hand pointed toward the now missing foe. His second arm followed suit, and this time a massive ball of fire closed the distance between hand and gargoyle. This monster as well vanished. Reinvigorated, the guards charged forward, Eisida being the first to strike a monster with a blade….

Several hours later…

Eisida sat with a mage hovering over her, closing her wounds. The camp that had been thrown up outside Windhelm was bustling, and drowning in noise. Crying children, moaning wounded, curses toward the Divines, the Daedra, and anything else that held any sway over Nirn. Imperial soldiers had arrived, but not in time to stop the creature from escaping. A single ballista had gotten a shot off, but had not aimed fully and instead had sent a shot crashing into someone's house. After the beast left, the Imperials had hastily constructed a small wooden walkway, allowing those trapped in the city freedom. Most of the fires had been extinguished. The rumored death toll was somewhere in the high hundreds. Just as her wounds had healed, Eisida caught sight of the mage from the city. Quickly, she made to go and thank him.

The man seemed not to have seen her, as he turned and vanished into the crowd. Although she would have normally let a thank you go, under the dire circumstances he had thrown himself into it seemed necessary to show gratefulness. And so she followed him into the crowd. She chased after his distinct robes as they passed their fellow survivors by. A mother rocked a baby slowly, crying softly to herself, as a man in the getup of a soldier held her close. A healer switched focus from one burn victim to the next, as the apothecary delivered salves and poultices.

She bumped and apologized her way through another group of people, and found herself looking at a tent decorated as one of an officer's. The flap moved gently, as though it had just been used. Carefully, she lifted it, finding within a strange assortment of people. There was, of course, the legate she had been expecting. He was in the typical heavy armor, and his hair was cut very short. He was clearly from Cyrodiil. It was his company that perplexed Eisida. Around a table stood three other figures.

The first was a tall dark elf. His eyes were a deep blue, and his skin was fare for his race. His hair seemed long, but was kept tied atop his head. At his waist were two war axes, one decorated with bindings and what appeared to be vampire fangs. His boots and gauntlets were ornately decorated steel, with several religious patterns etched into them.

Beside him was a Redguard, a spiral of black war paint was drawn wrapping around her eye. Her long brown hair reached half-way down her back. Her eyes, also a dark brown, darted from the legate to the Dunmer beside her. Her gaze wandered at strange moments however. Although she would usually view the person talking, she was far slower to take her gaze off the elf. Fair enough, Eisida figured, the Dunmer are so rarely looked up to in Skyrim, as this one appears to be. Those that are seen in this light are typically deserving of attention.

Finally, her eyes landed on the Argonian. His reptilian eyes seemed sad, and his hand continually reached behind him, feeling nothing. He had a quiver, but strangely he seemed to be without an actual bow. He wore a robe but over top of it was a small steel chest-plate. His scales were a vivid green, and there was the occasional bright orange coloration mixed in. She swore that on his forehead, she could vaguely make out a small, happy face.

This odd assortment of characters was gathered over a map of the area, seeming to be arguing about where the dragon would go. They all seemed exhausted, their eye-lids drooping even as they so angrily, and energetically, argued. Upon the table were four maps, one of Skyrim, and the others more detailed maps of the holds of the Pale, Eastmarch, and Winterhold. Several books seemingly about the Deadra and of ancient cults, were scattered about the tent, some on the table and others on the ground. A small lantern rested near the legate, and a few candles rested on the other end.

Suddenly, her eyes came to rest once more on the face of the dark elf. As he turned slightly, the light danced across his chest-plate, and it gleamed. However, something was strung over it. She gazed at the other two at the table as well. She then realized: The three all wore an amulet of Stendarr around their necks. Quickly, Eisida fell to her knee. "Pardon me for my intrusion, Vigilants. But, if I may… May I speak with you?" …

End Chapter 4

Hey guys, Darth Trekkie here. Hope you're enjoying The Vigil of Stendarr so far. So sorry about this one taking me as long as it did. I hadn't expected to be kept as busy as I have been. Things seem to have calmed down though, so with a little luck these will be back to coming up every 2-3 days. As usual, all critique and feedback is encouraged.


	5. Chapter 5: In the Aftermath

Chapter 5: In the Aftermath

The ashes rose…

The ashes rose from the city, obscuring from any nearby the light of the sun. The roaring of the beast had receded over time, and now nothing but the bustle of the camp remained. There seemed to be endless hordes of the wounded. Due to the battle, occasionally small bits of the outer wall would topple down. The only remaining sounds were the crying of the citizens, the marching of soldiers, and the yelling of healers and assistants.

Through this lightly organized chaos, the four moved. They certainly made for an odd group. A Dunmer, an Argonian, a Redguard, and a tall, blonde haired Nord in the uniform of a Windhelm guard.

Eisida had made a single request of the Vigilants. Obviously, Windhelm would for a long while remain a tragic image in the minds of her residents. Eisida had been wanting for something to do, for new places to see. She had sworn to lend her shield to these Vigilants, and should she prove successful, they would recommend her to be brought into the Vigil.

Their immediate question for her was if she had spotted any unusual or interesting people within the camp. She had brought up the hooded man who had led her to them, and they had set out to find him. Once more, Eisida worked her way through the crowd in pursuit of him, this time Vigilants in tow. Similarly, she found herself emerging into the healing section of the camp.

From the closest tent, a small exchange was heard by the party as they went past. "Hush now Forvur. It's just a bit of a burn. You'll be alright in a few hours." Renmar instantaneously caught hold of Galeven's soldier. "Gal… Do you think?"

The two broke off from Kataia and Eisida. They swung around to the front of the tent and lifted the flap. There, lying on the straw, was one of the Nords they had seen leaving the mountain. He held the hand of a young apothecary. "Thank you Elsine. I'm just glad you're…" He fell silent as he saw the two Vigilants. "Looks like I've visitors. If you'd leave us be for a quick while." She looked up from Forvur, and her expression darkened. She quickly left, and the Vigilants entered the tent, taking places by his side.

Galeven began. "So, Forvur is it?" He couldn't have even been twenty. "You're a bit young to have been involved in what you are. Wouldn't you think?" Forvur refused to look Galeven in the eye. "Well, I'm you're alright, because we have a few question-"Renmar grabbed the man by the collar of his tunic. "Where's my bow you thieving fu-"Their two companions entered the tent. "What's going on in here?"

Eventually, after a small bout of introductions and explanations (mostly directed at Eisida, who had to be filled in on the past twenty-four hours), they resumed their attempt at an interrogation. Forvur began by answering Renmar. "I am dreadfully sorry sir. I don't rightly know. It would likely be with one of the higher ups though. Any right-minded archer would take a liking to that weapon." With that, Renmar stormed out in frustration.

Galeven tried to take back control of the situation. "Well then, since we're on a subject, who are your higher ups? I saw some kind of Orc, and an Altmer. Mind shining some light on those characters?"

Forvur nodded. "Aye, that's the two. They lead the two big parties of our order. I served under the Orc, who goes by Ushargol. He led the regular cultists. However, we have some more… Interesting members. Their leader called herself Sirine. They're old followers of Molag Bal, yeah? They seem to be rather well-mannered, at least when they aren't in battle."

Galeven nodded. Eisida spoke next. "So, if their explanation is correct, you're a part of their cult, right? Why should we believe what you're saying? Why would you betray your leaders?"

His eyes dropped, and he was quiet for a while. "Because we were deceived. You were there, no? If you recall what we said, Jo'Raska's soul was added to the beast so as to control it, to make sure that it wouldn't hurt our members. Well, me and Viloke, the other one you saw, rushed right here so as to get our families out of Windhelm. I managed to get mine out, but went back check that he escaped. I found his home collapsed, and he was pinned under the rubble. Then the dragon landed nearby. It looked me dead in the face, and didn't seem to care that I was supposedly on its side."

The four left Forvur, content with his answers. They returned to Amaotus's tent. He had accompanied the three Vigilants on their ride to Windhelm. Even with the speed they had traveled, they were too late to make any real impact upon the situation or the people. The Legate was reading a letter delivered to hi via courier. In the corner stood two members of the Penitus Oculatus. Amaotus turned to the group, sighing slightly. "It seems as if you three… Or, I guess four now, are being called upon from the very seat of the empire."

When one is facing representatives of one of the most respected and feared fighting forces in Tamriel, you tend to feel inclined to agree to their terms. So, the four members were gathered up. The Penitus Oculatus had come with a large convoy, and some hundred or so soldiers. The Vigilants and their two companions, as Amaouts was to come with them, were loaded into a carriage with a metal covering.

Galeven chuckled as he asked, "So, Amaotus… Are we being escorted or arrested?" There was no answer however. Instead, there was the sound of the heavy metal door being locked shut behind them. The three Vigilants continued chuckling, but as Amaotus stared out through the barred window, it died down slowly.

Sometime later…

Within the box, there wasn't an easy way to tell what time it was. All the people within the carriage knew was that it was beginning to near nightfall. They had caught fleeting glimpses of Whiterun a few hours ago, and were now in the forest, so they deduced they were somewhere near Falkreath.

As the sky grew darker, the carriage came to a halt. The door was unlocked and opened, and a soldier poked his head in. "We're going to be stopping here for the night. We're in the process of setting up camp, and then we're going to cook up some food. Sorry for not filling you in on the situation, but we had no idea who might have overheard back in Windhelm." The company filed out of their box, and had a good stretch. Within the hour, a moderately sized camp had been erected, and a few banners were raised.

After a surprisingly hefty and varied dinner, they were gathered around the fire chatting about the events of the day. Thankfully, the three were not prisoners. However, due to the chance of the cult being wide-spread and listening in on things, the Oculatus decided to transport the group in a much more secure way. Even the defenses around the camp were a bit over the top considering.

The night was peaceful, quite, and perfectly cool. It was slightly warmer than the usual Skyrim weather, but there was still a refreshing breeze blowing. The only noticeable sounds were the cracking of the fire and the occasional bird flying past. In the distance, there was the sound of many wing beats, signifying perhaps a flock leaving their perches.

The party finished with their meal and lay down upon the grass. The flapping grew louder, and the number of wing beats seemed to increase as it did so. Galeven sat up, looking out into the forest. Kataia was resting nearby the horses, but looked over to him as he rose. Renmar was passed out, and Eisida was standing nearby him, scanning a journal recalling recent events written by Amaotus.

Suddenly, the noise from the forest became even louder. Joining in with the constant wing beats came a high pitched squeaking of sorts. Galeven lost his curious gaze and quickly made for his weapons. He shouted out as he did so. "Anyone with ranged weapons, get ready to fire at the trees. Battlemages, keep your fire spells to a minimum if you would. I'd really hate to burn down all of Falkreath tonight."

Seconds before he had his hands on his axes, the "flock" burst from the forest. A massive swarm of bats flooded into the clearing, scratching and biting at anyone and anything they could. Crossbow bolts and arrows struck a few out of the skies, and lightning bolts cracked into the air. Some of the soldiers who had removed their armor for the night had dived under the carriages, seeking shelter from the vicious attack.

Kataia swung wildly with her scimitar, managing to hit a good few of the bats. Those she missed clawed at her cheeks and neck. Galeven unleased a whirlwind of hits with both his axes. Renmar managed to swipe a crossbow from a soldier who, upon being swarmed, had dived into the nearby river to escape them. His first bolt missed its intended target entirely, but due to the density of the swarm managed to take another down instead. In the center of the camp, nearby the fire, was Amaotus, clutching to his chest the pack the party had secured from Mount Anthor.

Suddenly, the swarm dispersed around him. He turned slowly, wondering why the attack had let up in this particular area. As he did so, he spotted her. The vampire the group had reported, Sirine, now stood before him. "Well now. If I'm not mistaken, you're the one who was in charge of Kastav, aren't you. You certainly gave us trouble last night. All we were looking for was participants in our little spell, and you have to go and kill… What was it? Twenty or so of us? Well, I just won't stand for it! Unless, of course, you hand that over right now." She pointed to the pack. Amaotus stood, and ripped his sword from its scabbard. Sirine simply laughed. "Oh, is that so? Such a shame. You looked far smarter than you were."

Amaotus watched her as she removed the cape from her shoulders. Suddenly, she started to fold, as though in some sort of pain. He watched on in horror as dark pulsating veins appeared all over her. She seemed to be growing taller as well. After a minute of this transformation, she appeared an entirely different creature, and Amaotus was barely capable of standing.

"Akatosh, Kynareth, Stendarr... Gods… Please, no…" From outside the swarm, a sickening crunch was heard. With that, the bats took off back into the night. Sirine was gone, and Amaotus lay dead on the ground. The companions went pale when they saw that his head had been twisted to face behind him. There were claw marks all over his armor, even hitting his flesh. Once more, the night was silent, save for the cracking of the fire and the distant beating of wings…

End Chapter 5

Subsequent chapters in the works will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique and feedback is encouraged.


	6. Chapter 6: The Imperial City Part 1

Chapter 6: The Imperial City

Part 1

Note: Once again, apologies for the delay. This one was obviously a much more noticeable one. Hopefully, I'll now have more time on my hands to write. Hopefully you guys can understand how real life gets in the way. That's my apology, here's the chapter. Enjoy!

Finally they arrived…

Finally, on the thirtieth of Frostfall, they arrived before the great white walls of the Imperial City. The White-Gold tower stood proudly over the city. The convoy had been stopped just past the city gates, and those in the armored carriage were allowed out. Despite what had happened, the Imperial City was still one of the most secure places in Tamriel. The ballistae upon the wall, typically watching the bridges un-manned during peace times, were now aimed to the sky and fully crewed.

According to the Oculatus, there were a few people that had to be gathered before the Vigilants were required. Therefore, they were allowed to do as they pleased in the city. They gave each in the party two hundred septims each to do with as they would. Galevan bid his fellows a good day, and walked off. Kataia did the same. The two remaining had, in the hours prior to arriving, agreed already to try and find a good tavern somewhere and settle down for food and drink. Eventually the two of them found a place called The Legionnaire's Retreat, and soon the table was laden with bottles of sujamma, ale, and mead.

Kataia had originally planned to investigate the market. Her scimitar was a good sword, competently crafted and ornate, but there would certainly be something interesting there. However, as she was looking for a smithy, she instead spotted Galeven across a small courtyard. Sure that he was doing the same, (Galeven had often discussed with her the quality of weapons and armor, being quite knowledgeable about combat) she decided to try and catch up with him. As she did so, however, he took a turn and began climbing the steps to a cathedral-like building, decorated with beautiful stained-glass windows. He swung the metal knocker twice, and the large wood doors opened for him. Before they were closed, she managed to slip in behind him.

Curious, she slipped behind one of the pillars. She peered out over the room she was now in. The room had likely been a chapel, seemingly having been transferred into a hospital of sorts. A single apothecary was tending to one of the twelve patients, and a few temple attendants were cleaning, or transporting books and scrolls. She watched as Galeven stopped an attendant, to whom he handed his weapons. "If you would kindly take these to somewhere safe. Also, I am looking for a person supposedly here, a Khajiit by the name of K'mhirr."

He was pointed to the cat, with longer gray fur, leaning back in a small chair in the corner. His eyes were hazed, and if that weren't the case, he would have been staring directly at Kataia. Despite seeing his apparent blindness, she still shifted slightly. Galeven moved to K'mhirr, taking a seat next to him. "My my K'mhiir, I know I have been called upon, but I had hoped I need not pray for you."

His eyes did not move, confirming his loss of sight, but his expression softened. "Ah, Galeven, my old friend. I need not the mercy of Stendarr to heal my sight. Perhaps you have come to me, rather? I know of course of your, shall we say, misfortune, of late." He chuckled to himself at that.

Galeven, too, softened in his expression, smiling. "K'hmiir, you know I need not your prayers to Mara. For the Divines smile on he who protects the weakest of their children, and guide him down all his paths." After saying this, despite laughing along with his friend, his smile dropped, and he seemed to contemplate.

Galeven had grown up in Riften, having made few friends. There had been Jo'Raska, also a sort of foreigner in his own home. The Nords were well known to be a bit excluding towards the other races. Residing in the temple of Mara, however, had lived another Khajiit, K'mhiir. The both of them had found unity in their piety, something rare in a place so focused on greed and sadness. Galeven had found a friend to cause trouble and mess around with in Jo'Raska, and a fellow man of the Gods in K'hmiir.

Kataia found herself almost entranced by the actions of the typically quiet, sarcastic, and sometimes brutal Dunmer. He talked with K'mhiir on the events of late, the security of the city, and other such regular topics. Somehow, their conversation shifted to discussion on Daedra and their personal ideas. Despite the usual behavior of a Vigilant toward anything Daedric, Galeven seemed to believe there were occasional ones which were not to be feared. He used Peryite as an example. As Prince of tasks, he had great interest in maintaining mortal life. He showed a particular hatred, however, towards Boethia and Molag Bal.

Eventually, he left K'mhiir to rest, and passed from person to person. They would stir, and talk with the Vigilant. The conversation would take a similar path each time. He would ask their injury, talk with them for a while, and then would pray for them. Even if their pain was still great, he left each of them with a smile. During this, Kataia managed to slip out quietly.

12:30, the thirty first of Frostfall…

Eisida awoke after having passed out. The last thing she remembered was singing along with the bards, sometime after nightfall, being cheered on by the tavern-goers. Evidently, she had ordered a few too many ales. It was still dark outside, so she hadn't been out for too long. But, hadn't she been on the bottom floor? She checked the room. It was rather empty, there was a table at the foot of the bed, upon which was a small candlestick. Her sword and shield were leaned against the back of the open wardrobe. She made sure to grab both of these before investigating any further. Of course, even simply grabbing her gear would have to wait before regaining some sort of sense of balance. After a few attempts at standing up, she managed to grab her shield. Unfortunately, this period of consciousness was brief; she fell limp, thankfully managing to throw herself back onto the bed.

An hour prior…

The music had turned from the soft, ambient tunes, to a loud, light-hearted celebration of sorts. There were now multiple people, some weary travelers, others plump shop keeps, who had joined in on the singing. At the center of this group was Eisida. Renmar was still at their table, downing another mug of mead. Whenever there wasn't a drink to his lips, there was a smile upon them. After the rather somber tone of the trip after their stop near Falkreath, tonight was a well-deserved lightening of the mood.

The owner of The Legionnaire's Retreat, a rounder, shorter Breton by the name of Mathon, had chatted with the pair a short while. He mentioned how the Retreat had never really been a busy place. However, the new atmosphere was evidently very inviting, as his regulars were joined by a large amount of passersby. The place was becoming more and more packed every few minutes.

Despite the massive amount of empty bottles upon the table, Renmar was still very much sober. This was partly due to a good portion of them being Eisida's, and also due to the natural resistance to alcohol he had developed over the years. So, despite appearances, his senses were still keen, and his eyes were scanning the crowd constantly to keep a tab on Eisida. He took note that there were no less than fifteen people with their eyes glued to her, he excluded from this count. So when three of them, who had been talking amongst themselves, began closing on her, he was fully aware of their movement.

With little effort, the three had managed to talk Eisida (at this point speaking in slurred "words" and having issues with balance) into following them. The four left out into the night, a fifth trailing silently behind. As the group turned down a quiet side-street, the fifth drew two daggers from beneath his robe. At this point, one out of the group, a Wood Elf, turned to see if they were followed. He found his answer quickly in a dagger pointed directly into his neck, a reptilian face in his. He cried out, attempting to draw a sword at his side, but Renmar threw himself upon the man, driving his knife into him.

The two others swung 'round. An Orc and a Nord, both strongly built and tall, watched as Renmar rose from their dying companion. Both drew weapons, the Orc an axe, the Nord a mace. Their reptilian adversary gave a small smirk, and leapt forward. The two fell back, shoving Eisida to the ground, swinging their weapons at Renmar. He sidestepped one, which struck the other. Despite this success, he lost his footing in a small puddle, his own slash just grazing the Nord's leg. The man smiled, lunging towards Renmar. Clearly, he had been drinking, as what had escaped his mind was that Renmar had entered the battle with two daggers. The second of which now plunged deep into the Nord's chest, and he collapsed onto his enemy, pinning him on the ground.

The Orc had been quickly making sure that the guards were nowhere to be found, before advancing to make his own attack. Despite his comrade's failure, he was unafraid. Cleary the wine had gone to his brain. He did, however, have the distinct advantage of not being pinned under a body. He raised his axe to strike Renmar, a devilish smile on his face. _**CRACK**_

His smile faded instantly. The axe slipped from his hand, falling just next to Renmar's leg. As the sound of the weapon's clang echoed, the Orc fell to the ground. Behind him stood Eisida, holding her shield in both hands. Blood began to pool in the road's gutter, as Renmar shoved the Nord off him. Eisida lost her balance again, clutching onto Remar's arm as she did. This brought both of the two to the ground.

An hour later…

Renmar now stood leaning against a wall on the third floor of the Retreat. He had rented out two rooms, one for himself once he was sure that Eisida was out. She had been stirring constantly, usually getting up and then immediately collapsing. Though his head dropped every now and then, he made sure that he stayed awake. He felt that it was the right thing to do. The remaining twelve he had worried about had since left. He was thankful for this, hoping for the rest of the night to be uneventful. He caught sight of someone coming up the staircase to his right.

"Oh, Kataia. I hadn't expected to see you again until tomorrow. Did you manage to find any good shops for weapons? Got into a fight, just not as good fighting with boring old daggers." He sighed.

Kataia nodded. "Yeah. The Baron's Blades. I'll show you where it is tomorrow… Hey." She paused, seeming to contemplate. "… How would you say Galevan is in his work?"

Renmar's head tilted. "Hmm? I don't know. Wouldn't you know that better than me?"

She blushed a small bit, turning away. "I'm just asking for your opinion. It's been a while since we've really worked together."

"Alright. Well… He seems to take it seriously enough. Quick to the point of a situation, maybe a bit abrasive. Guy goes off on quite a few tangents too. He turned a conversation on preferred drinks into his theorizing about the Dwemer. He's brutal and decisive, both in combat and when dealing with those outside the Vigil, so it seems. That sound about right?"

She shook her head. "Yeah… It does. Huh." She smiled softly. "Well, never mind me. I'll see you tomorrow." She preceded about three rooms down the hall, unlocking and opening one of the doors. Renmar stepped forward and leaned against the railing, looking down to the bottom floor. As he did so, another passerby entered the Retreat. At his entrance, Renmar chuckled to himself.

"Now what are the chances?" He thought to himself. Galevan proceeded to seat himself at the counter. The inn keep was washing mugs behind the bar. He turned, and the two shared a greeting like that of old acquaintances. For a few minutes the two conversed. Then, one of the people who had been knelt by the fireplace made his way up to him. The man was dressed in loose-fitting rags, a street-rat who had been telling sob stories about his misfortune, each of which different from the last. He proceeded to tell the eighth tale Renmar had heard that night. Though he only caught snippets over the noise, apparently the man who was a farmer to him, a displaced noble to Eisida, and a failed entrepreneur to the inn keep, was a war veteran to Galeven.

Expecting at any moment Galeven to tell the man off, he was instead surprised. One of the parts he managed to hear made it sound to Renmar as though the man was describing to Galeven a battle. Galeven, being a man of history, surely knew that the battle he mentioned had been taken quite literally from a historical-fiction novel. However, when Galeven stopped the man in his recreation of the cavalry charges, he handed the man a pouch from his belt. Renmar couldn't hear the man's question, but he heard Galeven's answer: "Two hundred."

The man smiled, proclaimed blessings onto Galeven, which he was again surprised to hear returned. He slowly walked away; stumbling here or there, seemingly still processing what had happened. Galeven turned to Mathon.

"And with that man goes two hundred septims generously donated by the Penitus Oculatus. Now then Mathon, how much for a room and dinner?"  
To this, Mathon shook his head laughing. "Oh no, don't you dare. I know how you live. You are free to stay here and eat, and I mean that literally."

Renmar returned to where he had been standing near Eisida's room. He looked to the side, seeing Kataia's door now shut. "So, that's what you were on about. Interesting…" Suddenly, from the room behind him, he heard a thud. He swung the door open, looking in on Eisida passed out, half on and half off the bed, shield having fallen from her hand and onto the floor. "Huh, so she actually managed to take a few steps this time? Guess that means she's getting better." He shut her door, and proceeded to his own room.

End Chapter 6

Subsequent chapters in the works will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.


	7. Chapter 7: The Imperial City Part 2

Chapter 7: The Imperial City

Part 2

Sometime afternoon, the next day…

Sometime afternoon, the next day, the four were brought to the Imperial Palace. It was most certainly a sight to behold. The grand white-stone archway hung over the steps, which rose to the Palace doors, with banners of the Red Diamond suspended from upper levels. They swung in the gentle breeze, their gold embroidery shimmering. They did not have long however, as they were swiftly escorted by their Oculatus bodyguard. The entrance swung open, and they were rushed hurriedly through the corridors, deeper into the marvelous building.

Its size was truly great. Only the Castle Dour and Blue Palace rivaled it. Witnessing the awe of the others, Kataia laughed. "The Empire does love their construction projects. Have to keep the people working somehow."

Finally, after what seemed at least a half-hour of walking the halls, they were ushered into a small chamber. Relatively speaking, that is. Other than the thirteen or so agents of the Oculatus, the room was inhabited by only the party and three others. One, a representative of the Synod, who were the Empire's leading officials on magic. The second was a man with a short red cape, and a long gray beard. His armor was ornately crafted, and he appeared to be a highly decorated official of sorts. The other was a man adorned in the plainest of robes, somewhere in his mid-thirties. All were Imperials. The agents then filed out, and shut the door behind them.

The two groups stood in silence, nothing but a small table with a map upon it between them. The first to break the silence was the gentleman in the simple robes. "I hope the morning finds you four well." The party nodded, still in silence. The man was unfazed, and proceeded. "Excellent. I am Vinneius. Now then, I had heard that you were holding onto a knapsack, correct?" Kataia stepped forward, handing them the pack. He rifled through it, intently searching for something. After a few minutes of searching, his expression fell sullen. "So then that was what they were after…" He sighed, looking to his fellows.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. The man in the armor told them to enter, and the door was thrown open. A tall, robed man entered into the room. His robes looked almost like the Thalmor uniform, but the colors were off. Where it should've been black, it was rather a faint blue. The parts that may have been gold were silver instead. He was immediately recognized by Eisida, but she remained silent for now, electing to see what he meant to do. From within his robes, he procured a small cylindrical case. It was beautifully crafted, with small gemstones placed around it. Without saying a word, he handed it to Vinneius, and then took a seat at the table. There was silence, other than the sound of the heavy door being thrown shut.

Everyone looked at the new arrival in silence. Vinneius's attention was instead focused on the tube. He ran his hands along it, admiring the craftsmanship and checking the authenticity. He turned to the robed man. "How… How did you retrieve this?" Everyone in the room's eyes were now glued on the man. He smiled softly. "She who stole it ordained to show mercy."

There was a silence that hung over the room. His voice pierced their hearts, and soothed the previously felt tensions. Any stress upon the people in the room melted away, and the lines upon the caped man's face seemed almost to recede. They stared in awe at the stranger, then turned their attention back to Vinneius. His eyes still on the stranger, he opened the case, and withdrew a scroll from within it. He looked at it briefly, and then held it, eyes closed, for a short while. He then turned to face everyone else at once. "This is the scroll that was reported to us by Legate Amaotus." The Synod mage's eyes shifted back and forth between the scroll and the stranger.

Vinneius sighed, a smile on his face. "Finally. Well then, Synnergus…" He turned to face the caped man. "This is to be my ultimate reading. I only hope that I have done enough, in the short time I have served." Synnergus placed a hand on Vinneius's shoulder. "Relax Vin. You're acting like this'll kill you. We both know it isn't that serious." Vinneius nodded, chuckling a bit. He took a deep breath. "Alright then ladies and gentlemen, I suggest you listen close."

He opened up the scroll, and a vivid green light came from the scroll. The entire rest of the room seemed to fall dark in comparison, being shrouded in shadow. Everything seemed to grow colder as well. Vinneius began to read aloud. "The Prince of ambition and destruction shall once more wreak chaos on Nirn. Behind him will gather an army of those blinded by their ambition, unknowingly serving to destroy all, including themselves. They shall bind to flesh his will to burn, a beast upon wings of ebony. This creature will have the body of the dragons, and the spirit of the Daedra. However, Dagon rewards those who fulfil his domain. Show the ambition required to destroy his perfect creation, and slain it will be. Gather the pieces of the Prince's own razor, and drive it into the skull of the beast. Should the world yield to chaos, bow to the cult, and fall into destruction, shadows will engulf Nirn, and Mehrunes Dagon will be Lord of Nirn."

With these final words, the scroll's light died down, and the light and warmth returned to the chamber. Everyone save for Vinneius gasped, the robed man who had been seated having vanished. Vinneius closed the scroll, and set it down gingerly on the table. "If the room would explain to me what has happened, it would be a great help. Also, if someone wouldn't mind, please seal the scroll away again." His eyes were now faded, and he felt for a chair some distance away. Synnergus helped him to sit, as the Synod swiped the scroll and its case. Synnergus sighed. "The gentleman who returned to us our scroll is gone now."

Outside the village of Weye…

The party had been provided with a collective amount of a thousand septims, provided this time by Synnergus personally to make their mission easier. They were also told that Synnergus had another parting gift for the group. Galelven had remarked "As if he hasn't given us enough." The party had also been given horses, which were now roped around the sign of the Wawnet Inn. Soon, riding down the bridge came two horses. Upon one was Synnergus, upon the other was a man carrying multiple weapons, bound and wrapped.

Synnergus dismounted, and the Vigilants made towards him. Before he said anything, he handed them a map with several locations marked. Along with other markings, there were circles around three locations. One was labeled hilt, one pommel, and another blade. They had been informed that the Razor was technically indestructible, but could be broken apart into pieces. Exactly that had been ordered by the Emperor, who had then ordered the pieces scattered.

Next, he called forth his assistant. "I am unsure of whether or not you are aware, but in years prior I was quite the adventurer. During my travels, I performed various tasks for different hirers. Some mortal and others…" Here, he hesitated. His message was received however. What he now offered to the Vigilants were Daedric artifacts. There was a brief pause.

Galeven was the first to step up. "Well, so long as you worked for the right ones, I'm sure we won't need to lynch you." There was a small air of discomfort lifted from the encounter.

Synnergus was handed one of the weapons. "I am glad to hear it. I assure you, you will find this very pleasing." He unbound the weapon, and the covering fell away, revealing a gold tinted sword, glowing faintly red. The center of the hilt consisted of two rings, with a core of light in the smaller ring's center. "To you, vampire slayer, I lend to you Dawnbreaker. The blade of Meridia is keen to smite any undead and monsters of darkness." Galeven hesitated, but nodded as he took it. He fell back into the line.

The next gift was handed to Eisida. "I witnessed your training earlier today. I took notice in your use of your shield, and felt driven to retrieve this from my archives." The coverings fell away, revealing a shield that appeared to form an outward facing crescent almost. It was Dwemer in aesthetic, and shone in the sunlight. "I grant you, shield-maiden of Windhelm, Spellbreaker, the shield of Peryite the Taskmaster. This can reflect practically anything, and that includes any battlemage's spells."

The next was a severely different item. The binding needn't even be removed to spot it as a book. He proceeded to Kataia. "This particular item will not aid you directly. Instead, it will make you vastly superior at what you prefer. This, young Alik'r, is the Oghma Infinium. Read, and learn who you are." She took the book, locked on it. She thanked him, seemingly lost in thought.

Finally, he brought another artifact to Renmar. "Son of the marsh, what I give to you is unlike the others. It is not, truthfully, a Daedric in origin. Nevertheless, it may be viewed as equally… Heretical. This…" Once more, the cover fell away, revealing an ornately carved Moonstone bow, Elvish in design. "Is Auriel's bow, artifact of the Elven god Auri-El. Similar to Dawnbreaker, the bow longs to destroy the evils of Nirn. Hopefully, this will be of use. But be wary." He put a hand on Renmar's shoulder. "You must be sure that the bow never falls into the hands of your enemies. There is a prophecy tied with the bow, which most certainly the foe knows of."

After the party had put away their gifts, Synnergus remounted his horse. He bid farewell to them all, and rode away. His assistant, after hassling to gather up the wrappings and cords, followed shortly behind him. In the waning light of the sun, the White-Gold tower seemed to shimmer faintly. Shadows began to creep slowly from the nearby forest. The party gathered their horses, and all mounted up. They stood, in the center of the road leading out of Weye, watching the fading shine of Synnergus's armor disappear through the gates of the Imperial City. Renmar broke the silence. "Well, he was rather personal in those addresses. Isn't it slightly creepy, or is that just me?" The rest of the party laughed, but Renmar seemed genuinely concerned. "No, really… And was it just me, or was he _**really**_ touchy-feely?"

End Chapter 7

Subsequent chapters in the works will be released upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.


	8. Chapter 8: In the Heart of Darkness

Chapter 8: In the Heart of Darkness

The loosely-knit clan Lorethius...

The loosely-knit clan Lorethius had been functioning out of Morrowind for almost a century now. Having been driven out of the Summersets by a particularly nosy set of magi, Sirine had insisted on traversing the entirety of Tamriel. Viantar found the whole idea ridiculous, but went along with her despite this. He had found himself regretting that. Sirine absolutely adored the culture of the Dunmer, found the ash as beautiful as snow without the freezing of the real thing, and particularly enjoyed the local "vintage". Her brother absolutely detested the warlords of Morrowind, found it hard to breathe in the ever-falling ash from the Red Mountain, and particularly detested his life as of late.

One of the main issues Viantar had taken with his sister's leadership as of late was her change of loyalty. For some reason, Sirine had taken a fancy to Mehrunes Dagon. She and the clan were caught up in the ambition part of his dominion, but seemed to have omitted from memory the destruction bit. Viantar viewed them all the more as fools for this. Being one of the few women in the clan, and its leader, she had most of the men wrapped around her fingers. As he thought on this, he remembered that most of the women were as well.

To celebrate their most recent success, they had all been called back to their base. The Nelas family had been far too willing to lend the Lorethius clan their ancestral tomb, in exchange for their lives. The elderly couple had, for some reason, decided to leave their home and head further south. So now Viantar stood at the entrance, bracing himself to face Sirine again. He had previously tried to calm himself, but had unfourtunately grown entirely immune to the effects of alcohol.

Before he had time to knock, the door was thrown open and he was caught in a crushing embrace. Sirine let out a cry of delight. " **VIANTAR!** " Perhaps thankfully, his grumble of annoyance was drowned out by the cry. He was pulled inside the tomb, managing to catch the handle and drag the door shut behind him. As she released him and ran further inside, he brushed the ash off of his coat. Although the tomb wasn't necessarily large when they obtained it, her little pets (she was always so impersonal with the other members of the clan… Well, typically) had toiled to enlarge the space. Now, there was space for two large tables, a pen off to the side for the cattle, and (of course) twin thrones with their own personal table.

Viantar turned to Sirine, who was beaming. "Honestly, I get that you love your being in charge, but why must you insist on dragging me into your delusional royalty?" There were about thirty other clan members, fifteen seated at each table. Most were locked in their own conversations, but the occasional one or two would look off and give a sort of awkward smile. For perhaps obvious reasons, there were those in clan Lorethius who had mistaken the relationship between the siblings for something else. This mistake was to the delight of Sirine, and had been the reason Viantar had been missing for the past month.

For the past few decades, Sirine had brought the clan under the worship of Mehrunes Dagon, betraying their previous master Molag Bal. Obviously, the lord of domination had not been particular pleased by this. Spotting the state of the traitorous matriarch's brother, he had begun to put into motion a plan. Provided the leader was the champion of a Daedra, the clan would surely follow them whatever their race or gender. So, naturally, the Prince had begun whispering once more to Viantar. He offered him an incredible deal. Simply kill Sirine, take her place at the head of the clan, and return their worship to him. Then, he would grant him even more power than he already commanded.

Viantar now contemplated this offer, seated beside her, sipping the life from one of the cattle. These were not their regular cattle, for that matter. These were rather wealthy and well-lived individuals. Clearly, Sirine had pulled out all the stops for the summoning celebration. Sirine herself had only taken a little, and was now leaning back slightly in her throne, smiling softly, appearing lost in thought. Despite her behavior of late, Viantar found himself thinking, she's still family. Even if it did mean power, how could he bring himself to do something of that magnitude? She had always been with him. Granted, perhaps even when he hadn't wanted her to be. But that's no reason to kill family.

After the feast, the clan was adjourning after yet another long-winded and heartfelt speech from their fearless leader about how glorious their new reign over Tamriel would be. No matter how questionable her sanity, she was quite the performer. She had moved two particularly enthusiastic gentlemen to tears. Now, no one but Sirine, her personal guard, and Viantar remained. Sirine had been reasonable enough to allow her brother his own room. Last time he was here she had said it would be a waste of resources to carve out anymore rooms than they already had. Here he now sat, a rather well-made window open into the night, with an ornately carved dark stone dragon holding a pair of incense. His eyes were closed, and his door was locked. He had learned a form of trance from the eldest vampires in the Summersets, and used it often when he wanted an escape, or needed to contemplate...

"Come on Viantar! It's just up here!" Sirine once more propelled forward ahead of her brother. Viantar rounded the corner, wringing his blade's cleaning rag into his canteen. He had desperately hoped that when Sirine said the "seven thousand steps", she had been exaggerating. He had considered staying in Ivarstead, but had decided he couldn't let her go alone. Now they finally marched up to their destination; some decrepit old temple, though admittedly with a splendid view. Sirine spun wildly in delight, her cape flowing in the wind and her hood flying back. Her eyes split the darkness of the night. As she spun, her foot slipped on the iced stone, and she began to fall down the stairs. Viantat rushed forward, with such speed the snow he had stood on was sent feet in the air. He stopped at the foot of the stairs however, and watched annoyed as Sirine landed perfectly on her hands, beaming wildly. Vianthar marched past her, not saying a word. Sirine brought herself to her feet. She sat on the step, looking behind her as he reached the door. He forced open the doors, and marched in.

After the two had finished raiding the chests and hideaways of the temple, Viantar loaded his treasure into a tube, and went to find his sister. She had a habit of being distracted by the strangest things, from ancient carvings to simple (and typically just bad) books. Even he had to admit though, that the stories locked away in the building's storages of scrolls, and even in the engravings in the walls. He rounded another corner, and entered what had seemed like the bedchambers.

Suddenly, everything stopped. He knew what he had seen that night. He could easily replicate the whole scene, even in a regular dream. So why now, in a powerful trance, would his memory fail him. No. Not a failure. An invasion then. A chill swept through him as this thought came to mind.

" **Fool. Is my offer no longer appealing to you? How many daughters of Coldharbour would be at your beck and call, should you only succeed? Your power would put you above every other servant in my court; you would be unrivaled in your mortal realm!** " The booming voice of the Prince of Domination shook his mind. He fell to his knees, pain surging through his head. " **I will make no different offer to you, _Your Lordship_ , if that's what you intend to try for. There is only one way.**"

Now, before him, he saw the broken and bloodied body of Sirine. Behind her, and somehow, across from where he sat, there he stood. Viantar watched as he cleaned his own sword, and then turned away from Sirine, who was engulfed by the mist now filling the space. A massive army stood on the other side, all of them with eyes glowing in the darkness. A bloodcurdling cry of victory took flight, and once more his mind tremored.

" **Do you doubt me now? I have not conjured up these visions, only shown you one half of your own dreams. All your ambitions, all your wants, will be brought forth, but you must prove yourself! Prove to me that I am your only Lord! Surely, this power, this near GODLY standing, is worth a mere single life.** " The silvery-blue skinned, horned head of Molag Bal rose from behind the army, awesome and massive. The Daedra's eyes burned a blinding white, overpowering the darkness, and causing the army and Viantar to seemingly blow away to dust before him. " **Now, if you want more out of that endless life of yours than a carved up tomb and a handful of lackeys… FULFILL MY DEMANDS!** "

With that, the trance broke, and his visions shattered and collapsed around him. He fell back from where he was sitting, gasping for air. He clutched his head as another tremor of pain shot through him. The incense had ceased burning, and a harsh cold wind had been blowing through the window. As the pain subsided, Viantar threw shut the wooden doors on the window, and locked the dragon carving away in the closet. He sat down upon the bed, and ran his hands threw his hair. His eyes caught a sharp glint upon the table. Stabbed into the woodwork was a long, crooked dagger, a sort of black metal with a white serrated edge on one side…

End Chapter 8

Hi guys, Darth Trekkie here. Again, all my apologies for the chapters being so late and spread out. I've been sort of working on an idea for an original story, so this has been a bit of a second thought as of late. But since I will have more time to work on my writing now, I can hopefully focus on completing the story.

Subsequent chapters in the works will be added upon their completion and revision. All critique and feedback is encouraged.


	9. Chapter 9: The Strangers' Hunt

Chapter 9: The Strangers' Hunt

The party had been riding...

The party had been riding for hours now. According to the map that Galeven had been reading, and some guesswork, they were somewhere between the Old Bridge and a shrine of sorts to Tiber Septim. They now sat, relaxing in the chilling night air, the quiet chirping of the insects and birds all around them. At this place, beside a small bay of the Lake Rumare, they made camp. The were strewn about the camp, all thinking to themselves and pondering their new gifts.

Galeven was performing on the edge of the bay, practicing his swordsmanship. He had been very cautious at first, even holding it. However, having been practicing for about half an hour, he had found that the light in the hilt was actually not flame. However, the streak of heat and fire flowing behind the blade as he sliced and lunged was very noticeable. And, to test her shield's durability, Eisida had agreed to help him spar. As promised, Spellbreaker was quite capable at taking the blows from Dawnbreaker. Eisida had found that even the heat produced by the blade was seemingly captured and absorbed by the shield.

Unlike all the others, Kataia had been apprehensive about taking her gift. Even still, she had kept the book bound and in the saddle-pouch of her horse. She sat by the fire, looking out over the bay, thinking. The Ohgma Infinium. Book of the Demon of Knowledge, Hermaeus Mora. Multiple researches into this particular prince had led to a few theories as to him. The first was that he was a helpful, yet dangerous lord. He guards all knowledge of the worlds, and will grant it to those who prove themselves. Adversely, the next suggested he was a callous and cruel demon, as he horded all knowledge he could find, going as far to kill anyone else who knew a secret he particularly cared for. The third was a sort of middle ground, suggesting that he was neither good nor evil, simply there. He has the capacity to act aggressively, but mainly makes choices dependent upon his curiosity.

Galeven and Eisida concluded their sparring, and Galeven came to sit next to Kataia as she thought. He rested his head upon his hand, and for a moment the two just sat quietly. The fire they had set up in front of them was beginning to dim slightly, and needed more logs. The setting sun highlighted the grand skyline of the Imperial City in the far distance, upon the lake now burning orange-yellow in the light.

Kataia was the one who decided to break the silence. "I mean... All the other gifts, they make sense. Two relics literally built to destroy monsters, and a shield from the Taskmaster. Not exactly harmful or evil. But... That." She motioned toward the pack.

"Well..." Galeven interjected. "We've looked into Mora constantly, but we still don't really know much. Only that he is known to..."

"Drive people mad with the spoils of his domain." She finished his concerned thoughts.

Eisida came to sit at the fireside now. "Still unsure about the book?" Her question was met with silence. "Right... Hey, should we get more wood for the fire? Night's coming."

Kataia nodded. "Right. Hey, where's Renmar?"

Galeven laughed. "Good to see you see the giant-slayer as a pack mule. Well, he went to go practice with his bow. Probably went somewhere into the forest."

Somewhere into the forest...

Renmar took another shot with the bow. It flew free of the string and struck its target, the middle of a well grown tree. He turned the bow around in his hands, once more admiring the beauteous craftsmanship. He went to the tree to collect twelve of his arrows. He then began shuffling through the underbrush for the thirty or so he had missed. (Though one had stuck a rabbit, so there was his dinner sorted.) He had stumbled upon the twenty-fifth when he heard a rustling in the bushes not far from where he was. Thinking it was probably another creature, he strung an arrow. He didn't draw it, instead placing a tree between himself and the noise. He was glad he hadn't prepared to let fly, since the next noise was of a sword crashing through the brush, and Eisida marched through.

The two of them managed to find the rest of the arrows (and another meal), and began collecting some firewood. As they did this, the sun continued its descent, and darkness began to fall. The two chatted about the quality about the quality of their gifts, and how they now had a prophesied way of destroying the dragon. This conversation continued until both had gathered a sizable pile to take back to the camp. As they walked along the newly carved path through the forest, they continued their hopeful conversations. Suddenly, Renmar stopped. "Get down, quickly." He threw down his pile and threw himself to the forest floor. Eisida followed suit, and they sat quiet.

Sure enough, Renmar had heard something. Footsteps, moving quickly toward them. Someone was running through the forest. Farther away, but only a small while, there was the thundering of hooves. As the sounds grew closer, hollering could be heard, along with the desperate panting of whomever was on foot. Suddenly, the running figure rushed past them, adorned only in leather trousers. However, he threw to his side a metal boot, seemingly trying to loose any excess weight. An arrow came streaking past, and stuck itself into the tree just above where Renmar lay. The man continued bolting through the wood. Not half a minute later, two horseman leaped and bounded after him. After another minute, and once the hooves had died down, the two rose slowly to their feet. They drew their weapons, and crept in the direction they had moved.

The two finally reached a line of bushes at the top of a small incline. In a small clearing, there were two large statues atop a pedestal. The first was of a wolf, seemingly mid prowl. The second was of a man the head of stag, holding a spear. At the foot of the statues, lay the man they had seen running. In the newly-risen moonlight, they could now make out that he was an Orc. The two who had pursued him had tied their horses to a nearby tree, and now stood over their captive. They were adorned in full suits of Orcish armor themselves. However, when one turned to throw the prisoner's weapons away, they could see he was actually a Nord.

The weapons crashed as they struck a rock, obscuring something the Nord had said. But obviously it was in poor taste, as the Orc groaned and hung his head. The other armored figure, also an Orc, let out a laugh. "Hahah! Yes! Oh, now we have to. But not yet." He kicked the prisoner once, who folded to the blow, and then turned back to the Nord. "You would have done well as an Orc, blood-kin." The nord drew a long, rough dagger. He knelt down, and pressed it against his captive's throat. "Aye, and I'd 'ave loved to be one. Now then, exactly what have you been running from, flanker?" The armored Orc spit down at the prisoner at that. "Not while I'm down 'ere, if you wouldn't mind. We've a need for what you stole. Chief liked it on 'is mantle, and it's not like it'd do you much good." He motioned with his free hand toward where the weapons had landed. "I see you're smart enough not t' use it for one of your rusty blades."

The orc in armor suddenly drew his sword, facing away from both the statues and the pair of silent observers. "You there! What are you lookin' at. Move along old man!" The Nord rose, and made sure to slice up the prisoner's face. "Aye. We're on private business here. Nothin' more than a dispute between friends." Eisida leaned as far as she could, eventually catching sight of who they were talking with: The man who had brought to them their Elder Scroll. He seemed completely unafraid though, and, she now noticed, was laughing. The Orc called out. "What are you laughing at?"

Once more, he spoke in that voice that seemed to soothe even the winds, as the breeze fell still. "Simply the wonderful chance of it. You hunt your quarry all the way south from Orsinium, and end here, at the foot of the Prince of the Hunt." The insects hushed, and the prisoner's face rose to look to the stranger. He gasped, seemingly stunned. The man simply continued laughing. The Nord's expression slowly turned from a confused scowl to a smile, as he laughed along. "I'll give you that 'n, that's damned perfect." The Orc too began to chuckle. The man continued to speak. "Truly, it would be a shame to end the sport now. There seems to be no worthier a prey for you two." The two were nodding slowly. Their prisoner looked in awe and confusion from his captors to the stranger. Once more, the stranger spoke. "Why don't you two go and prepare yourself for the next part of the hunt. You've had experience with the hunt, surely you can track him. So, my associates..." Eisida startled, as he made a swiping motion along the treeline in which Renmar and she hid. "Will unbind him, take what they need, and tomorrow you can once more hunt down your target."

Eisida stared at the two armored men, wondering as to what they were thinking. "Aye, it'd be a shame to put 'im down now." His companion nodded. "Yeah... Ushargol didn't say we couldn't have fun, so long as we got it back." The two huddled, and whispered to each other. Eisida turned to see what the stranger thought of this, and grumbled in annoyance to see he had disappeared as before. The Orc then spoke up again. "Alright flanker, consider your arse saved. We'll be after you at... Sunrise?" He turned to his friend. The Nord shook his head. "Nah, we'll get some food 'fore we head out after 'im." The two nodded, and then started to walk off, chatting about the hunt.

Renmar and Eisida slid down the hillside. The Orc turned to see them descend, mouth hanging open, still in the middle of processing what exactly had occurred. Renmar knelt down, and began to cut away the ropes binding the Orc's hands. Eisida helped him to his feet as Renmar made to check if his captors had genuinely left. He returned, and simply shrugged, at a loss for words. The Orc now spoke up. "Thank you for your aid. But... Well, do you know somewhere I might sleep? I think I may have been running too long... The hallucinations have already started."

End Chapter 9

Subsequent chapters in the works will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.


	10. Chapter 10: Flanker

Chapter 10: Flanker

Everything he did was wrong…

Everything he did was wrong, and this he knew. From the way he thought, the way he lived, and the way he fought. All of it was so perfectly out of line for the natives of Orsinium. But of course, Oranzul had not been raised in his so-called homeland. He had been raised in High Rock, a place of magic, education, and civility. His mother had raised him as a Breton, and sheltered him from the world. She did this both out of a want to protect him, but also out of fear, and possibly shame.

The world seemed to despise Oranzul. He was the product of war, unfortunately quite literally. He was a Half-Orc, the offspring of a Breton seamstress and an Orc warrior. Needless to say his birth was not happy moment for his mother. This fact made it so he was unfit for either society, as it turned out. His Breton mother had tried her best to make the city forget about her son, and had never even named him. His skin was a pale green, his ears small, but pointed. His dark black hair grew short, and rough. He was about as strong as a Breton, which certainly made him seem weak, with his Orsimer appearence.

When he finally fled to the constantly changing lands of Orsinium, the Orc war-parties laughed at his feeble build, and felt he was unable to fight properly. Ushargol, however, wanted any and all soldiers he could get, and so the newly self-named Oranzul was drafted.

In his first battle, he ended up separated from his group, in a dense forest. He had peered out from the trees, onto the field, where the battle raged. He snuck up, and then rushed into the enemy's flank. He had killed twenty six by his count. But this, of course, was a disgusting and wrong way of fighting, fit only for cowards and weaklings. He would be remembered in the armies as "Flanker". No matter what he did after, he was always viewed with distrust and contempt from his comrades. Like nothing else, he longed for a life free of all this hate and war, to be his own person. But he continued to serve, and continued to be punished, it seemed, for existing.

But, perhaps there was some merciful force who had found pity in him. In one particular battle, his commander had been struck in the head by an arrow, and killed outright. His unit continued their brutal push forward, through the enemy spears, but Oranzul stopped to, at first, mourn his death. Despite his cruelties, he was a good leader, and had won the heart of the Flanker. Then, he noticed a small pouch dangling from his armor. Oranzul, having gone without pay for months, quickly snatched it, despite the pangs of guilt he felt as he did so. Within the pouch were multiple gemstones, some gold, and a small, jagged piece of black metal. The metal had a silvery edge on one side, which was sharpened and easily capable of cutting.

Though the metal was likely worthless, the contents of the pouch seemed quite valuable indeed. He quickly thought of the things he could do with it. At first, he thought he might gradually hand the gems over to other commanders, in exchange for more coin. But it was entirely likely they would just take it from him. He then thought of giving it to some civilian to exchange, but his warband wasn't exactly known for its kindness.

Then, he realized. If he could flee far enough south, perhaps to the Empire, he may be able to trade the pouch for coin, and get far enough from Orsinium to start an honest life. He knew that, should he go through with this, he would be murdered if he were ever found. Just in case he decided to, he searched him for anything else, and found a well-made, ornate scabbard. Perhaps what the metal had once belonged to?

With his newly collected back-up plan, he rejoined the army. He would only consider it if he felt it was worth the risk. That night, after another set of lashes for failing to join the charge in the battle, he decided he would chance it after all. He stole one of the few horses they had, and rode it far and fast.

He was half-way through Hammerfell when he first realized he was being pursued. He spotted them for himself from atop a large dune, deducing from the dust that only a hand-full were following. But he couldn't understand why. He had taken only pouch's worth of jewels, and some antique. Surely they weren't important enough to hunt him down for. Whatever the reason may be, he thought, he had to continue. He crossed into Cyrodiil, and desperately searched for somewhere to hide. But they were always catching up, always right behind him. And so he continued on.

He had made it across the Old Bridge when his horse was killed. One of them had brought a bow, and was well versed in its use. Oranzul kept running, eventually dashing into the dense forest. But the two kept after him, and he could hear their horses pursuing, and closing in. He tore what armor he had on off, desperate for any additional speed he could muster. He leapt over a fallen tree, making an awful crash. He was tearing the last boot from his foot when he could have sworn he saw some massive lizard. He was left no time to focus, however, as an arrow narrowly flew over his shoulder and found lodging in a tree.

He could now hear them, hollering and calling out to him. Their words were unintelligible, but he had no desire to find out what they were crying. He ripped the pouch from a cord round his neck, and threw it into the forest. Then, he took the scabbard from his waist and did the same. If he were to be caught, perhaps they would spare him if he was without their prizes. He made a break for the edge of the forest, where he could see the sky clearly. To his surprise, where he could see no trees, he also found there was no ground. As he burst from the brush, he tumbled down the incline and into the clearing, eventually coming to rest at the foot of a massive statue. He groaned in pain from the unexpected fall.

Finally, his two pursuers peered out from the trees. They rode down and around the incline, and before Oranzul could get up and away, the archer landed a painful blow to his leg, bringing him back down. The archer, a Nord, quickly bound Oranzul's hands behind his back, and ripped his sword from its sheath. He also, after kicking his prey to the side, pulled a dagger and a partially concealed scabbard from Oranzul's belt. The other hunter, a warrior named Malron, unsaddled and started over to him.

He coughed, clearing his throat, and regaining his breath. "So, Flanker. Did you really think that you could get away? First, you fail us in battle, and then you outright betray us. I guess we should've expected it."

The Nord tossed Oranzul's weapons to the side. They made a clang as he spoke to Malron. "Ey, d'ya suppose we could somehow stick 'im on that spear?" He looked up to the statues, with some Daedra with a spear some 25 feet in the air. Oranzul moaned, fully aware they'd probably try it.

Sure enough, Malron bellowed in laughter. "Haha! Yes! Oh, now we have to. But not yet." He glared down at his victim, and delivered a swift kick to the gut. Oranzul folded in pain. Meanwhile, Malron turned back to the Nord. "You would have done well as a Orc, blood-kin."

The Nord approached Oranzul, drawing a sharp and jagged blade. He knelt down, a sick grin on his face, eyes darting around, trying to read the emotions on Oranzul's face. The blade was quickly pressed against Oranzul's neck. "Aye, and I'd 'ave loved to be one. Now then…" His accent was strange, certainly not Nordic, almost like some strange adaptaion of the Altmer tounge. "What exactly have you been running from, Flanker?" He made sure to emphasize the last word. Malron spit down in disgust toward Oranzul. The Nord turned up to him. "Not while I'm down 'ere, if you wouldn't mind?"

Malron nodded and backed up. The Nord cleared his throat and continued. "We've a need for what you stole. Chief liked it on 'is mantle, and it's not like it'd do you much good." He leaned forward a bit, and whispered. _"Not like any of that shite's true, right?"_ Oranzul let his face show a small sign of confusion. To this, the Nord motioned toward the weapons he had taken. "I see you're smart enough not t' use it for one of your rusty blades."

Suddenly, Oranzul understood. But only half of it. They had followed him half-way across Tamriel, not for the pouch of valuables, but for the scabbard he had found on his dead chief? Why? Was it really that valuable? And what did this man mean by "none of it being true"? What wasn't true? Before Oranzul could voice any of these questions, however, Malron drew his sword.

After the rescue…

Oranzul now sat at the party's camp, secluded in a tent one of the women had lent him. He still, after two hours of discussion, had no idea who these people were. other than Vigilants. He didn't know why they went and collected the items before going to sleep, why they only wanted the scabbard, why he wasn't dead, or what in Oblivion happened back at the statue. He had, however, decided on something. He needed work. And it was evident he wouldn't be allowed peace by the fates. These people were rather small in number to be going about on their own. They were fine with letting him onboard, and they were set to leave a few short hours after dawn. They promised to pay him well, weekly at that, and were eager to have another swordsman in their group. So he finally decided to retire for the night, not bothering to ask why the elf had a flaming sword and the one woman's shield was seemingly built facing the wrong-way round. He already had enough to question.

End Chapter 10

Subsequent chapters in the works will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.


	11. Chapter 11: Morahame

Chapter 11: Morahame

Thankfully…

Thankfully, the next few days passed without much to speak of. Some animal attacks, some rain. Oranzul's leg had healed nicely, thanks to some help from Kataia. But mostly, the days passed as such. First, they would wake and down a small breakfast. They'd hurriedly pack up camp, and travel for a few hours, until about mid-day. They would then break, and eat another small meal. They'd spend as long as they felt possible on the road, then find a place to make camp again. Now, they would eat a hearty dinner around the fire, and relax from the long road. Four days passed like this. Finally, on the fourth of Sun's Dusk, Galeven figured they were a few hours out from their first stop: Morahame.

Morahame was a ruin, on the edge of the Panther River, just east of the Niben Bay. They had managed to find an inn on the banks of the Silverfish River, just north of their destination. The Imperial Bridge Inn was nothing much to speak of, but there was food, drink, and bed. The night was a quiet, unsure one, as they were still well aware that this could all be for naught. If the Orcs had somehow gotten their hands on the Razor's scabbard, who knew what other pieces they had? But the map lent to them stated Morahame had been where the blade was kept. The Hilt was somewhere in Morrowind, and, most frustratingly, the pommel had been sent to the Dominion. Why had this been one of the few things the two nations agreed upon? With distrust and anger still fresh and alive between the two, it would be difficult to search for it. That, they decided, would be where they went last.

Oranzul had finally gotten a bit more comfortable with the party, and knew them a bit better now. He still was more reserved and withdrawn as the group made plans about their exploration, and possible fight, for the ruins. As the light outside finally faded, they took to bed so as to be rested for the possible battle.

The next morning, they continued along the road, heading south, worried as to what they would discover. The white arches of the ruins were visible from a ways off, and they led their horses into the forest, and tied them there. They would make the rest of their approach on foot, in hopes of making less noise. Finally, they turned off the road and made their way through the forest, toward where they had seen the white stone.

They peered out from the bushes and shrubs, and looked out at the ruins. Unsurprisingly, they were not alone. What was a surprise, however, was what awaited them there. Standing about, with a few fires and hide tents warming and sheltering a few, were several bandits. Of course, they were decently armed, and they easily outnumbered the party. But considering their encounters prior, fighting with vampires, orcs, and a damn dragon, they were rather surprised at how easy this appeared by comparison.

However, despite their newfound confidence in removing these foes, they were not going to rush in without some sort of planning. So, they sent Oranzul, surprisingly the member who was lightest on their feet, to see if he could spot anything of tactical value. He returned, stating only the obvious. They were, indeed, a group of highwaymen and robbers. The above-ground portion of the ruin was open to the world, and so if each of them took a side to attack from, they would hit the enemy from each side before they could react, while also giving them more to worry about.

So, the party all began to circle around to find a unique angle of attack, all save for Renmar, who strung an arrow and waited. Ten minutes later, four whistles were heard. Renmar let fly an arrow, which struck the stone directly in front of a bandit's face. He spun around wildly, drawing his blade, only to see four people charging into the camp.

The bandits rushed to grab their weapons, but were taken aback by the ferocity of the attack. Not only that, but their attackers were a strange bunch indeed. An Orc, a Dark Elf, a Redguard, and a Nord were attacking from all sides, as arrows kept narrowly missing their targets. Even stranger was their gear. One had a shield curving inward, instead of out. One had twin scimitars. One carried a notched longsword, worn down and rusted with age. And the last one carried what seemed to be a sword made of gold, literally burning bright in the shade of the trees, as it set one of their tents alight. The Dark Elf wielding it cried out and leapt back in surprise, as this apparently had not been his intention.

The bandit captain, usually in charge of organizing their robberies and raids, called his men to fight. He pulled his war hammer free from his waist, and swung wildly at the Orc, who seemed the simplest of opponents to deal with. The camp mage, a wood elf for what it's worth, blasted forth a bolt of lightning toward the Nord woman. The bolt was returned to him, hitting him square in the chest and sending him flying. Galeven, having regained composure, delivered a nasty blow to another bandit, splitting his shoulder and sending him tumbling to the ground in pain. The captain fought on, undaunted, even as his men fell around him. His next swing hit Kataia in the back, but the swing was a weak one, and it only winded her. At worst it'd be a bruise.

Soon, the captain realized he was surrounded. He dropped his hammer and begged of the Vigilants to spare him. Galeven hit him on the head with his sword's pommel. "When he wakes up, I'm sure he'll feel very grateful indeed." The party then made their way down, into the ruin's lower chamber. At least, what had once been a chamber. All of the walls were busted, and tunnels spread seemingly everywhere. As they crept silently up to the entrance to one tunnel, they heard singing and drunk laughter.

Eisida spoke quietly to her companions. "Sounds like they've really made a home here. If the blade is here, wouldn't it be in here?" She motioned to a central pedestal. Then, as if in answer, they heard the clanging of a blacksmith's hammer.

Kataia looked to Galeven. "Do you think?" He nodded, silently, and motioned for the party to follow, heading down the tunnel that the sound had come from.

Oranzul looked to Renmar. "What does she mean? What's going on?" Renmar shrugged. "I usually just go with it. Let them do what they do." The two of them trailed behind the others. They continued down the tunnel for a few minutes, eventually coming to the entrance to a small cave, which opened up to the banks of the Panther. In this cave, a forge had been set up, and a Breton smith was putting a hammer down. He turned to another person, this one in full plate.

"I'm sorry sir. I can't. The metal won't melt. It's impossible to repair this." He looked toward the anvil. Several shards of metal glowed a bright orange. "What even are they? I don't remember you ever using a knife."

The armored warrior spoke up. "It doesn't matter. If it can't be repaired or reused then it's worthless. I don't know why I kept those stupid things."

The two continued talking, and the party began whispering. The first to say something was Renmar. "If you want, I could take the armored one out. I've got one of these." He pulled an arrow from his quiver. "Bodkin arrow, tears right through armor."

Kataia argued. "You have to hit the guy for that to be of any use." Renmar looked appalled at her response, and turned angrily away.

"Well, maybe we can just rush them." Said Galeven. " I mean, we have the numbers this time. We don't really need to be overly-tactical here."

Eisida raised her shield. "I can enter first, act as cover for you guys. Then you two," She motioned to Kataia and Galeven. "Can use your swords skills to deal with-" _**TWANG! TICK!**_

The whole party turned, and saw Renmar, bow raised, hand in the position of having let fly an arrow. Sure enough, it fell from the stone wall, between the two bandits, and rolled slowly over to the party. The two groups silently stared at one another for a moment. Then the smith spun around and shook on a rope, ringing a bell which echoed throughout the entire tunnel system. Galeven leapt forward, driving his sword into the smith, but too late to stop the bell. The armored bandit was about to strike at him with a short sword, when the blunt end of a war hammer collided with the front of his helmet. He lay unconscious on the floor of the cave, as Oranzul stood over him, hammer in hand. "I actually really like this. Feels nice to use."

"Great for you!" Said Kataia, as she dropped the pieces of the blade into the cooling water. "But now's not the time. We can compare weapons later!" She drew them out carefully and threw them in a pouch on a nearby table. The five quickly made for a boat, Renmar being sure to grab his arrow as he ran by. They shoved the dingy into the water, and were quickly carried off by the tide, shouts echoing from the caves. They watched as the white spires of Morahame grew ever distant. As soon as they were safely ashore, Eisida made sure to smack Renmar. One close call, and now three pieces of the Razor down, not counting the scabbard.

"Wonderful." Galeven nodded, looking at the map. "So… I suppose its northeast to Morrowind now, yes?"

End Chapter 11

Subsequent chapters in the works will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.

Author's note: Thought I'd been really neglecting Vigil. Sorry about that. Will try and get the next few chapters finished and out within the span of a few days to make up for the lack of content. Two for two so far.


	12. Chapter 12: Detour through Nibenay

Chapter 12: Detour through Nibenay

The party made quick pace…

The party made quick pace from Morahame, heading to the north, north east, toward Hero Hill and Fort Scinia. First, of course, they would stop in Cheydinhal to stock up on supplies. They would make to go through the mountains, and into Morrowind. Once through the mountains, they would find out where they were and make their way to the closest city.

For the first leg of their journey, from the north banks of the Panther River to the west bank of the Corbollo River, they would stay to the road. This made travel easier, and there were spots where they could camp nearby to other travelers and caravans. Often at these stops, Galeven and Renmar would sit up around the fire with other travelers, trying to outdo one another with stories of their exploits. The group reveled in how simply they had achieved their goal. Sure, it was only half the blade, and it was split into pieces. But regarding how lightly it had been guarded, it was likely their foes were unsure of where the pieces were. The blade shards were kept in the scabbard, hidden away on a small ankle belt Oranzul had.

Their pace was relaxed, but they still managed to cross the Corbollo on the eighth of Sun's Dusk. They spent a few hours before bed deciding where to go next. Galeven, who had been around the Imperial City many times before, told them that the road directly around the city was constantly laden with caravans, travelers, and other such foot traffic. Progressing along that road would take longer, and overall, the distance was great from where they were to Cheydinhal by road. Oranzul proposed they cut straight through the Nibenay Basin, stop at Lake Poppad, and then rejoin the Blue Road just outside the city's west gate.

The next morning, they set out through the foothills and forest. Though they were on horseback, their packs were small, and they had minimal trouble maneuvering the woods. Two hours later, they arrived at a large split in the river. After a few minutes of discussion, they decided they were looking out over the point where the Corbolo feeds into the Reed River, and another split leads to the lake. They swung their horses around and prepared to set off. Before they could, however, Eisida called out.

"Hey, look out there! Something's in the water." She pointed out to the middle of the split. Sure enough, in the shallows near the opposite bank, there was something gleaming in the water. The party struggled to see for a minute, before Renmar dismounted and ran to the water.

"Renmar, what are you doing? We have to move here!" Kataia called out to him. Galeven then dismounted as well, and followed him to the bank. The other three remained mounted, as Renmar swam toward the other bank, and Galeven stood on muddy shore.

Renmar rose out from the water on the other side, and moved the object over. He slipped and fell back, seemingly in surprise. For a minute, he sat there, looking from the party to the finding. He then decided to try and haul it back. He slung it upon a large log, and then pushed off toward the party. As he drew closer, the party realized the reason for his surprise. It was a body, in a small amount of Elven armor.

The other three dismounted and rushed over to the body. Galeven was already knelt over the dead elf, examining him. It was, indeed, an Altmer. Probably some form of scout, they decided. What shocked them was not who had died. Rather, how they appeared to have died. Gashes and bruises were all over the body, and much of the color had drained away. The armor had been punctured in many places, and excessively deep wounds suggested repeated and powerful stabbing. But the worst part was the gashes. All along his arms, his legs, his neck, even across his face, he seemed to have been clawed at.

Feeling a mixture of horror and sorrow, they decided to bury him. Galeven took the helmet, and put it in a sack on his horse. No words were said for him. They continued their ride to Lake Poppad, with a much more somber tone.

After another hour or so of riding, they arrived at the lake. Their small endeavor of kindness had taken them some time, however, so it was sunset already. They made extra sure to check their surroundings, before finally setting up camp and retiring. Each of them kept their weapons close for the night, just in case of attack. Somehow, they managed to drift into sleep.

The cold of a desert night…

Galeven stood as the winged creatures descended upon him and his group of ten. They had been tracking a vampire who had been causing trouble for the city of Taneth. The group was quickly surrounded, and the beasts' claws clashed with their scimitars.

"Galeven, what are these things? What do we do!?" One of the Alik'r who had recently joined the Vigil spun wildly, trying to fend off three of them.

"They're gargoyles, nothing to worry about. Draw your silver blades, they'll make short work of them." He shouted back, voice full of confidence.

The part did as they were told, silver blades rasping from their sheaths. They began to take swings at the gargoyle attackers. However, just before a strike should have hit them, burning into their stony flesh, they evaporated, and reformed just out of the way. The silver blades swung harmlessly through the air, and the young recruit who had only hours before joined them in search of adventure fell dead to the sand.

"What? How are they doing that? What do we do now?" The others desperately tried to hit them, Galeven included, but the creatures were impossible to combat. Two more warriors fell.

Galeven's mind was racing, trying to discern what was happening. This was nothing like he had encountered before, this was **not** something gargoyles could do. That was impossible. Wasn't it? Another two dropped as he questioned this. He swung on, dodging other gargoyles' claws as they attempted retaliation. Could he have been wrong? Another two Vigilants.

"Stay strong. I don't know what these things are, but we can…" He turned to see only two others standing with him, against a now overwhelming number of enemies. "Beat them…"

One of the last two fell, a scream of pain echoing as he did. Galeven quickly scanned the faces of the fallen. He could name each of them, knew them all. But there was one missing from the dead. He leapt into the beast about to attack her from behind, driving his sword into its side, and finally it turned to dust. But he heard her cry out, and turned to see Kataia, killed by the vast number of monsters.

All he could do was kneel, sword half-buried in the sands. The monsters parted, and another woman walked up. He recognized her as the vampire from the ritual. "Poor, poor Vigilant. You do know so little about us, don't you? And yet you claimed to be a hunter of my kind, and led these poor fools to their deaths." She placed her foot on Kataia's neck, and stood laughing over him.

The winter wind blew cold…

Kataia had traveled far, and had finally arrived in Solitude. She had been told not to leave Hammerfell, but she had been determined. The Vigil eventually capitulated, allowing her transfer to Skyrim. She just had to see him again. There hadn't been enough time. She spent only the night in the city, as he had been stationed near Falkreath the last she'd heard.

By nightfall, she was on the road from Rorikstead to Falkreath, and she saw a dim light emanating from a cave. She pulled to the side, and dismounted. She didn't need to think too hard to imagine what lay within. Outside the mouth of the cave laid multiple bodies, each with puncture wounds, and seemingly drained of all blood. She drew he scimitar, a silver one she received from him as a gift. She marched into the cave, and was rather surprised. It seemed she had missed the action, as multiple piles of dust were scattered across the cave floor. She continued further in, however, just to make sure.

As she went deeper into the cave, she found both dead bandits and peasants, likely former thralls, mixed in with the numerous dust piles. She rounded another corner, and found a dead end, with other corpses and dust. She had been about to leave, when a groan of pain rose up from the bodies at the far end. She looked again. On the floor lay two dead, one in heavy plate, and one in leather. But, leaned against the wall in a corner, somehow overlooked by her the first time around, was Galeven. She rushed over to him.

"Gods, Gal. Are you alright? What happened?" She held his head up so that he could see her. There was a massive gash in his gut, and blood dripped slowly from his mouth.

He coughed, more blood escaping him, and gasped for air. When he talked, it was weak and strained. "Bastard got me in the gut. He…" He collapsed into another coughing fit, Kataia holding him up. "He ran off after he did. Hey… What are you… How did you get here?"

She smiled, but tears streamed from her eyes. "I managed to get them to let me go with you. I thought…" She struggled to retain some composure. "I knew you'd be practically hopeless without me."

For a long moment, they sat, in a quiet embrace. Then, Galeven pushed his hand into hers, and put something into it. She held it into the fading torchlight, and saw a unique, ornately carved medallion. She looked down to him, and he smiled faintly. "My mother's. Make sure… You get it back to her… She was always so hesitant about letting me go…" His smile slowly faded, as did the last spark of life within.

The heat of the fires warmed her, though her blood ran cold…

Behind her, a building collapsed from the fire, and debris filled the street where the family following her had stood. Another gargoyle launched at her, but she sliced it away with her sword. It evaporated around the strike and dissipated. Her fellow guardsmen were struggling similarly, desperately trying to fend the creatures off. Finally, they had made it to the gates of the city, and opened them to let the mass of citizens through.

As they charged through, however, those in front suddenly fell. Eisida glanced down the bridge, only to see a large rank of Bosmer archers in Dominion armor readying another volley. This time, the Windhelm guard rushed in front of the populace, and threw up their shields. The arrows struck them, one narrowly missing and hitting a guardsman in the head. The elves then backed away, showing the fierce Altmer swordsman behind them. They let out a battle-cry, and then rushed forward. The guards gave their own shouted response, and the two groups collided on the bridge.

Within moments, the guards were cut down, and the Elves rushed into the city. The dragon set down atop the bridge, and let loose another blast of flame, this time aimed at the Elves. Amidst this chaos, Eisida sat bleeding just beyond the gates. Out from them came a large man, with a flowing blond beard, and heavy Imperial armor. He looked down at her.

"Eisida… How could you have let this happen? I thought that I had raised you to fight for your people, your home. I thought you were a soldier. I thought you were our shield!" He paused, as she looked pleadingly up to him, whimpering in pain. "I thought you were a Nord…"

"Father…" She watched, as the fire grew, consuming him, and searing her with its heat.

He could just hear the waves crashing into the rocks…

He dared not look over the cliff, however. Oranzul had his sword drawn, and stood ready for them to attack. Instead, out from the group came a familiar face. He was the farmer who had provided for his mother and him when no one else did. Of course, he had only really meant to provide for his mother, as Oranzul's very existence had been a secret. Now, he stood, a cruel iron mace in hand, rage burning in his eyes.

"You're an abomination!" He cried. The villagers called out in a resounding cry of agreement. "You shouldn't even exist!" Again, the cries, this time as they raised their weapons. The crowd continued on in a jumble of curses and cries, and then his mother was pushed to the front of the crowd.

"Listen, **Orc**." He had made sure to stress the word. "Either you die, or she does. What kind of example is she setting, anyways?" The crowd shouted their approval.

Oranzul looked on, appalled. How could these people be saying this? How was he, or even his mother, for that matter, at fault for his existence? What would they have had her do, kill an innocent child? Or perhaps herself, he thought furiously. But he saw the look of terror in her eyes, and could see no alternative.

Still, if he were to give them victory, he might as well not let them enjoy it. Without a second thought, he cast himself over the edge, into the rocks below. His only message before leaping was a soft, apologetic smile to his mother.

A casket, a bridge over lava, a bog of spiders…

Renmar had seen them all by now. He was simply curious as to what he would see next. He shoved another of the spiders away, having grown bored with them. He had even ridden one around briefly. At last, the scenery around him changed again, and a shrill shrieking was all he could hear. Then, rather oddly, he was stood in forest. Before him was some sort of statue, a woman of sorts, in flowing robes and with a staff in hand.

He looked up, noting the absence of the stars, and the utter silence. Then, a voice spoke to him. " **How curious. I've never met one who was so undaunted at my visions.** " Renmar looked about, but saw no one. He sat before the statue.

"Judging from what I've seen, may I guess your name?" There was silence. "Right. Are you the Daedra Vaermina, perchance?"

Another brief silence. " **Perhaps. But first, tell me. What would an Argonian, a Redguard, a Dunmer, Orc, and Nord be doing in the forests of Cyrodiil?** "

Renmar considered this. "It is rather absurd, isn't it? But I'm not one to get philosophical, and feel it's better to simply enjoy the happenings of the world. There's rarely a reasonable explanation to it."

He heard a faint laugh. " **Mmm? But you bear the amulet and blessings of Stendarr, no? Do you not wish to battle me?** "

Renmar answered with his own laugh. "I know where I am. I have no hope of defeating you, alone, in your domain. No matter how much I may despise you. But your nightmares do not scare me any longer. I've dealt with you prior."

The dream quickly crumbled, and there was nothing but black.

Morning…

The whole party, excluding strangely Renmar, awoke in a cold sweat. Each decided, before even greeting the others, that it was just a dream and nothing to be concerned of. That didn't stop Galeven and Kataia being a bit awkward around one another, nor did it help with Oranzul's sleeping issues. Eisida spent the whole morning alone, and returned rather pink-eyed. The party didn't press her, most of them near crying themselves. They packed up and made for Cheydinhal. As they left, they caught sight of severa other bodies, and the statue to Vaermina. They refused to stop again until they arrived, and were all slow to get to sleep, save for Renmar.

End Chapter 12

Subsequent chapters will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.

Author's note: Might have gotten a bit dark here. Well, if you didn't get enough Daedra stuff from the vision with Molag Bal or the ritual to Mehrunes Dagon, have some Vaermina! I only hope I did her justice. Bit of a longer one here as well. Hope you enjoy.


	13. Chapter 13: Dremmidzoor

Chapter 13: Dremmidzoor

After a night of restlessness…

After a night of restlessness, the party was slow to ready the next morning. They spent a good week in the town, however, buying supplies enough to last them the trek to the coast of Vvardenfell. They would either make for Balmora or Vivec once there. Apparently, the hilt had been sent to the northern portions of the island, but finding it wouldn't be easy. With the warring clans of Morrowind constantly shifting borders, and raiding enemy locations, it was very likely the hilt had been moved. Holding a relic of such legend would certainly boost the "legitimacy" of any Warlord's claim.

Other than shopping and trying to get back into a sleeping pattern, their time was spent gathering information on the possible paths through the mountains. It seemed their easiest course would be to pass by Fort Scinia. There was a decent path that merchants and armies would often use. Their alternatives were rather slim. But that put them through a lot of mountains, and a great distance to the channel. One night, in a rather dingy tavern, Renmar managed to get a man to draw him a path through the mountains, which he used for his undisclosed personal travels.

It would take them east after passing by a shrine to Julianos, through the range, and then immediately to the coast. The group figured that this route, though harder to climb, would put them a few days ahead. And so they set off on the seventeenth of Sun's Dusk from Cheydinhal. In no time at all, they found their way to the shrine, and then began the march east. The rest of the day was spent climbing up the rocky foot of the range. Just before sunset, they made camp. They could already see the snow, only an hour more of a climb. Thankfully, their tents could keep out the breeze.

Opposite the mountains…

Viantar released the man from his grip, his armor and the small amount of light thankfully veiling him from sight. Even so, the escort of soldiers given to him made sure to keep a great distance from him. Though the main army he rode with composed of the Veranis clan, his company had come all the way from Rotheran. His sister was convinced having an ally on the mainland would make securing Vvardenfell easier. Her brother, and newly named envoy of the Rotheran Islands (The warlord was entirely happy to allow the Lorethius family to take control) was deployed to aid the Veranis against the Andrethis.

Laid out across the field were countless soldiers in bonemold. Their only distinguishing features were colored and decorated flags wrapped around their torsos. Swords, axes, and bows were strewn about, arrows and spears stuck out of the ground, and a path of bodies literally torn to shreds. The commander of the Veranis forces was stood next to Viantar's horse, surveying the area as his army marched south. In the far distance was a large tower, and a large wall was just visible. Viantar dismounted, wiping his mouth clean.

"Well, sir." The commander gave him a courteous bow, and then looked out at the horizon. "Within the week, we'll have taken Andrethis. Their armies are crushed and routing, and soon their city shall burn." He turned back, smiling. "The Veranis owe you a great deal for your aid. Your company has proven themselves incredible warriors. I will be sure to support the alliance upon my return."

Viantar nodded, and found a faint smile on his face. He found himself thinking that this mortal amused him. He was one of the few who spoke to him freely, without fear or doubt. More promising, he found, this man actually found Sirine desirable. Perhaps with a bit of coercing, he could divert her attention onto this man. A shame he couldn't recall his name…

The commander went down to give his inspirational speech to his men. Viantar stood back upon the hill, truly reveling in a victory that was well fought. Just over the east horizon, the sun finally set. His wounds, however minor, closed, and his fatigue lifted. He genuinely missed the warmth of the sun, but now even seeing daylight weakened him. A large black bat came down from the west, and morphed back into Viantar's right-hand, Menemir, a rather built Bosmer who had come with the twins from the Summersets. He was the sole person who left with Viantar.

"My Lord, the Vigilants you informed me of have been found. The Prevucia family saw them in Chedinhal. Earlier today, they left for the mountains. They will likely come out just north of Veranis. How shall we proceed?"

He opened his mouth to speak to Menemir, but held his tongue when he saw a small brown bat approaching. "Later, Menemir, later." Menemir bowed, then transformed and flew away. The brown bat transformed before him, and a slender Dunmer woman stood before him. She bowed slightly, barely concealing her disdain. He had seen her during his visit to Rotheran. He had found that, when he was absent, she was the typical center of Sirine's attention. Whatever her attitude was, it most certainly was not friendly.

Her voice was soft, just over a whisper. "Your Lordship." Viantar nodded in acknowledgement. "I have wonderful news. We have secured our foothold on the main."

"Ah, so Sirine's secured her alliance, has she? I suppose that means our fun here is over." He began to mount again, but was stopped when he heard her laugh faintly. He turned back to her. She continued with her giggling for a short while, and when she calmed down finally, Viantar was rather concerned to see a smile upon her face.

"Not at all, my Lord. Our Lady has simply discovered the effectivity of our host's army. And so…" She waved over to the crowd, and Viantar watched as his Rotheran company began their butchery of the Veranis army. "She has ordered our immediate seizing of all Veranis territory. The great merging of our people has begun." She gave out another laugh, and then transformed and flew away.

As the battle waged, Menemir returned to Viantar's side. "Well… It seems once more our Lady has thrown peace out the proverbial window." As if in emphasis, a scream of pain erupted. "Has anything changed while we were away?"

The commander of the Veranis clambered to the top of the hill, his leg torn open by a wild sword slash. "Master Lorethian, what in Oblivion is going on?! What of your peace?!"

The clashing of swords and shields was accompanied by a slight howl of the breeze. Suddenly, a sword was thrust through the commander's chest. He roared in agony, and he was then kicked to the floor. Viantar mounted his horse, and spun it around. Menemir returned to his bat form, and took to the sky. As he rode away from the battle, Viantar found a familiar thought go through his head. "The Lorethius family knows no peace…"

The twentieth of Sun's Dusk…

Harsh wind and cold snow slowed the progress of the party, as they made their way across the mountainous border of Cyrodiil and Morrowind. Galeven's Dawnbreaker helped warm him, and provided their only beacon for navigation. They could just barely make out their companions, and had to move fast in following them before their tracks were buried in fresh snow. The light of the sword gave them some notion of which way was forward.

Oranzul, just behind Galeven, was the first to notice. The ice and snow bit into his skin, and he even got some minor cuts. Suddenly, the white turned to black, and he felt warm blood poured from a gash on his cheek. He spun around, trying to spot what had struck him. Another strike, and more blood came from a wound on his arm. This time, he saw it, but only briefly. Something winged, small, and remarkably fast.

Kataia watched him spin and scan the area, and then saw the second object strike his arm. She ripped a scimitar from its sheath, and managed a slash at the creature. A splatter of blood stained the snow, and it spun into the ground. Suddenly, a figure rose from the snow, cloaked and bleeding from her arm. She was between Kataia and Renmar, and in the time it took for her to rise, Renmar had strung and fired an arrow. Just before striking her, however, it was caught in the wind and blew away. She leaped toward Kataia, only to end up impaled upon her sword.

As if the weather wasn't enough, eight more figures appeared and drew daggers. The rest of the party drew their weapons, bracing for combat. They closed in around Kataia, who had taken their friend, and Renmar swung his bow like a club, striking one of them in the head. They fell to the floor, seemingly unconscious.

Galeven swung left toward one in front of him, who deflected it deftly, then leapt past him, slashing at his side. He was caught, however, when Galeven continued his swing, catching his assailant in his chest. The other cloaks turned toward their comrade's death, seemingly now targeting Galeven. As they went forward, however, Oranzul swung his hammer down, crushing a skull and bringing another down.

" _Lok Vah Koor_!" A voice boomed through the pass, and the winds died down. The snow parted, and the area around the battle was completely clear. With near half their men downed, and the advantage of the storm gone, the five remaining attackers transformed into bats, and flew away. Renmar strung one more arrow, and fired toward the one who led their retreat. His aim was true, and the bat fell from the sky, transforming mid-fall.

The party was both surprised and thankful they could now see, as they had been battling by the side of a cliff. They trudged back toward the inner part of the path, and surveyed the range. They breathed a sigh of relief, as they could now see Vvardenfell and the Inner Sea. The wind had died down, but they could now hear a steady beating of wings. Out from over the edge of the cliff came a massive dragon. Snow was thrown toward the party, though it fell just short of them. Its scales were a bright gold, its eyes vivid blue. It set down right in front of them, and its wings folded in. The party stood in awe, awaiting some sort of action from it. The dragon eyed them, and then lowered its head, seemingly in a bow.

" _Vigilants. I have watched your progress through these mountains. Your journey will only grow more difficult. Should you require an ally, call upon me. I am Dremmidzoor. I am mercy_." He took to the skies again, and flew off. The five of them stood there, unsure of how to react to the current situation.

After several hours of marching through the snow, largely in silence, they arrived at the foot of the mountains. They could see Red Mountain, and the pillar of smoke rising from it. Now, only a small stretch of land remained to the Inner Sea. With any hopes there wouldn't be any more… Unusual interruptions to their journey. Vampires and war parties they could deal with, but friendly dragons nearly burying them in snow to offer their aid were something they weren't prepared to deal with.

End Chapter 13

Subsequent chapters will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.


	14. Chapter 14: The Town of Silgrad

Chapter 14: The Town of Silgrad

After the trip…

After the trip the companions had just went through, they all agreed a rest was well deserved. They agreed to make way to a town not far from the coast called Silgrad. There, they would restock on supplies and perhaps stay and relax for a day. Their legs were tired, their eyes barely held open. But they continued on until they arrived.

They quickly realized they'd have been just as well of had they camped instead. Possibly better off. The town was ravaged. There were dead everywhere, and clear signs of a large struggle. Torn up soldiers in bonemold were strewn all over the street. Scorch marks and blood painted the walls and cobbled road black and scarlet. Several men had been cruelly impaled on pikes in whatever patches of ground there was. Galeven and Kataia took particular note that some corpses were in distinct armor, and had begun to deteriorate into ash.

As they surveyed the aftermath before them, Kataia spoke. "The vampires are in Morrowind."

They spent a minute more absorbing the ghastly image, then began to search for any survivors, or anything useful. As they searched, there was little noise. The sun was sinking, and the night was growing colder. After having effectively searched the whole of the town, they gathered at the tavern, the place surprisingly most intact. Eisida and Renmar started a small fire, and Oranzul went in the back to find some drinks. Galeven sat at the bar, head in hands. Kataia hid herself away upstairs.

As she shut the door behind her, she swung the small pack she wore from her shoulder. She opened it, and withdrew the Oghma Infinium. She eyed its cover, a patchwork of different materials and colors. She ran he hand over the spine, and found herself holding her breath. She sat herself down on the bed. Nervously, she opened the book.

…

It was night without question now. The doors and window shutters to the tavern had taken hits in the battle, and so it was impossible to keep out all the cold. The company, minus Kataia, sat huddled around the fire. They had been talking about their pasts and plans for the future. None of them were willing to bring up just how impossible their mission seemed, or what horror must have occurred to clear out all of Silgrad. They drank of sujamma and wine, and ate what little bread they had left in their packs.

An hour later, Galeven and Renmar had drifted off to sleep. Oranzul sat by the fire still, and Eisida was tossing and turning, trying to rest. Rather abruptly, the door to the tavern was flung open, and the fire was extinguished in a cold gust of air. Eisida stood, gripping her shield. Oranzul rose quickly with his hammer in hand. The other two, roused by the cold, began to stir. With their light out, it was difficult to discern what was now in the room with them. Faintly silhouetted by the moonlight, they saw a tall figure in dark grey armor. A black cloak was draped over him, hood raised. As the figure lifted its head to view the party, two glowing orange eyes opened.

The vampire lowered his hood, letting his silvery hair reflect the moon's glow. He grinned to them and bowed ever so slightly. "Ah. At last I have the honor of meeting the meddlers themselves. Greetings. I am Viantar Lorethius."

Galeven had rushed to the front of the group, Dawnbreaker and silver axe drawn and readied. "Monster… I would be right to assume you are responsible for the carnage this place went through?"

Viantar's smile faded. He began to pace along the bar, running his hand on the wood. "Your dedication to the justice of these people is admirable. Unfourtunately, misguided. If you want to avenge them, you'd be looking for my sister. I believe you've met briefly, no?"

He stopped, turning to them, and drew his sword from his hip. The ebony blade seemed to pulse with magic, and runes carved on its sides burned a dark red. "But of course to do that you'd have to leave here alive."

The party now all stood, weapons drawn and ready, eyeing Viantar as he stood waiting. "Well Vigilants? I'm waiting."

Galeven needed no further invitation. He threw himself forward, swinging down with his blade of fire. The attack was easily sidestepped by Viantar, who struck him with the pommel of his blade and sent him to the ground. An arrow whizzed by his head, sticking into the wall. Viantar once more stepped aside as Oranzul's hammer came down and cracked the floor. He struck with his blade this time, slashing at his side. As he turned, he was taken aback by the Nord woman charging in to hit him with her shield. He easily avoided the thing, but was stuck by her sword instead.

He reeled back, but stood quickly. The wound would be quick to heal. He had more dangerous opponents to worry about. He propelled himself into her now raised shield, and she was sent flying back across the tavern. She came crashing down into a set table. Another arrow struck the bar in front of him, and he turned to try and find the archer. As he did, Galeven let out a cry and brought his axe down. It struck, but even as Viantar burned and shouted in pain, he swiftly took a swing at Galeven's ankle. He fell, and Oranzul leapt over him with another powerful swing. Viantar glided effortlessly across the room, and grabbed ahold of Renmar, his bow falling to the ground.

Viantar chuckled as he threw the lizard into a wall with enough force to crack it. "You four are who they sent to stop Sirine's plans? The Vigil must be in shambles if this is all it has to offer." He parried another swipe from Dawnbreaker. He delivered a kick to Oranzul's leg, bringing him to a kneel, and then kneed him in the face. He then spun with his sword, glancing off Galeven's gauntlet.

He maneuvered to put a table between him and the more painful weapons, and took to further targeting Oranzul. This time, a swipe across his chest sent him spinning backward. He was distinctly perturbed when, in quite a surprising move, Galeven leapt over the table and onto him. The two toppled down, and Galeven held the silver axe up to his neck.

"See these fangs, vampire? Each comes from a vampire lord. If I can bring them down, I can bring you down." Even as he said this, Viantar began to rise, and ripped the axe from his hands. He kicked him back, and locked swords with him, grinning.

"Is that so? You've brought down vampire lords, have you? Then this must be excruciatingly boring for you. Allow me to meet your standards." Viantar pulled back, and made sure to put distance between himself and the party. He threw the axe into the floor, and removed his cloak in a flourish. He sheathed his sword, and then doubled over. His face seemed to be in sheer agony. Swirling shadows and a pulsating energy came over him, and the room grew even colder. He grew immensely in size.

As the last part of his grizzly transformation, tattered wings burst from his back. He rose from the floor, floating in the air. His hands were wickedly clawed, his ears even more pointed than they had been. His flowing silver hair ran over his skin, now a sickly grey. His legs seemed misshapen and wrong; all of his muscles seemed to have grown.

Galeven watched in a mix of disgust, terror, and fascination. When it was concluded, he and Oranzul had both effectively been brought to the ground in sheer fright and shock. The monster cackled, and called out. "Well, vampire hunter? Surely this is more to your taste. Or, could it be?" He flew over, sinking to the ground and pushing Galeven down beneath his clawed foot. "You've never fought a _proper_ Vampire Lord. Only those power-mad fools who manage to accrue a meagre portion of our true power."

Galeven, though taken aback, recognized an opportunity. He swung in desperation with Dawnbreaker. His terror only grew when the beast caught it in its clawed hand. Viantar's already contorted face became scrunched in pain. He ripped the sword from Galeven's hand, and tossed it across the room. "What poor manners. Surely you wouldn't intend to interrupt now, would you?"

He shuddered as another attack came, this one from Oranzul. The massive blow from the hammer only shook him, however. He rose from Galeven, who gasped for breath as the weight left his lungs. Viantar glared at Oranzul, and sent a bolt of lightning through him.

Viantar glanced back and forth between the two of them. He seemed almost bored, when an arrow stuck into his shoulder. His face once more convulsed, and he actually let out a cry. He tore the arrow out of his back, and spun around. "What in Oblivion?!" He was given no chance to say more, as Eisida slashed wildly at him with her sword. He took several strikes before he could stop her, holding her in place and throwing her with his magic. He scanned the room for the lizard, and just as he found him, another arrow hit him square in the chest.

Being entirely fed up with this unusual pain these arrows inflicted, he decided the archer would do to restore his well-being. He lifted a clawed hand toward him. Renmar clutched at his chest, glowing faintly as Viantar's hand drew energy from him. The other three coughed and writhed in pain, unable to rise to fight. Despite his suffering, Oranzul dragged himself toward his hammer, only to have it pulled away and into the hand of Viantar. He looked them over, seemingly in pity. Suddenly, his eyes became questioning, and his gaze shifted from one to another.

"How peculiar. I could have sworn the scouts had reported five Vigilants. Did that interception group manage to do one of you in?" None of them said anything, either unwilling or unable to answer. "Well, no matter. I suppose I shall be merciful, and reunite you with your compatriot. Say your last farewells morta-AAAAHHH!" He shrieked in pain, suddenly being blasted by a torrent of fire. He dropped the hammer and ceased his hold on Renmar. As the blast continued, he screamed and desperately rushed to escape it. He scrambled out through the door and into the street.

…

Kataia drifted through everything. That's the only way she could describe it, everything. Every tale, recipe, truth, lie, spell, word, image. Anything and everything ever known or forgotten. It was a sea of knowledge, one that buffeted her on her journey. As this happened, a voice spoke. It was almost alien, like no voice ever would be. Its pronunciation was perfect, but its tone was all wrong and it paused in unusual places.

"Ah, dear Redguard. You seek to learn. I welcome those who possess such a drive. I wish to aid you in this effort. But you will owe me a favor one day, in exchange for such powerful knowledge." The voice ceased, and she continued drifting.

It spoke up again after what seemed like hours, but then everything seemed to be moving so slowly. "I see within you a locked away, potent power. You would have been incredibly powerful, had you been educated. No no, do allow me." As the voice concluded, the sea parted, and a stream of knowledge dedicated to the arcane drilled into her mind. It was painful, but every second she learned some facet of magical history, some interesting use for alteration or restoration, a spell, a tome.

It was some time before she was released from the book's trance. She slammed it shut, and sat breathing heavily for a moment. She reflected briefly. Sure enough, it seemed she possessed the mind of a well-educated mage. She was still unsure whether or not she would be able to conjure up the magic she had seen in her mind. Suddenly, she heard a cry of pain. It sounded far deeper than any of her companions' voices though. She slowly opened the door, and began creeping down the steps.

…

Viantar stood outside, now having reverted to his normal form. Even with his healing, the fire had injured him badly. He stood gritting his teeth in pain, redrawing his sword before he turned back around. What he saw displeased him to no end. The Vigilants had all regained their footing. What's more, the fifth had joined them, hands burning with a magic fire. Each had weapon in hand, and a newly determined look in their eyes.

For a moment, Viantar stood dumbfounded; astonished that these five had even come close to defeating him. He chose his next move very cautiously. He sheathed his sword, and raised his hands slightly.

"Very well Vigilants. I realize when I am beat. You can rest easy tonight. Nurse those wounds. If you had trouble with me, after all, just wait until you meet my sister." Having gathered enough energy, he took to the air as a swarm of bats, and disappeared into the night.

End Chapter 14

Subsequent chapters will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.

Author's note: Merry Christmas everyone! My little period of having trouble with this setting is over. Hope anyone interested wasn't deterred by the little hiatus I put this on, I was just drained writing nothing but fantasy for so long. Now that I've got some other projects going, I can maintain a healthy balance of fantasy and other genres. Also hope you enjoy seeing Viantar kick some serious ass this chapter. And if you like Viantar, look forward to Chapter 15. Also, I will be going back through this story upon its completion and fixing all the errors, especially in those early chapters.


	15. Chapter 15: Time

Chapter 15: Time

The new hall…

The new hall of the Lorethius family was spacious, and several new recruits feasted upon the lavish banquet. Several of the offerings were the former lords and ladies of the city. Their takeover had been quick, and now those who they hadn't slaughtered were more than happy to bend the knee to Sirine and her clan. The new rulers of Sadrith Mora, and most of northern Morrowind in actuality, relished in their newfound luxury. Those who remembered the years they feasted in the Isles now rained praise after praise upon Sirine, who had in their eyes restored the Lorethius name to glory. The doors swung open, two guards in bonemold held them as Viantar strode in.

The whole of the clan gave a welcoming call, and Sirine rose from her throne to greet him. "You always do take so long on your outings. I hope finding the new place wasn't that hard?"

He sighed and slid out from her embrace. "Well, considering that it's a massive fortress… Not all that hard, no."

Despite his usual abrasive tone, she giggled and wrapped around his arm anyway, walking him toward the thrones. "Well, in any case, we can take all the time we want now that the _wretched_ , _dangerous_ Vigilants are dealt with."

The hall was filled with laughter, several others taking up the mock fright as well. Viantar seated himself into his throne, and began to massage his temples. He looked more tense and angry than usual. The laughter began to fade, and soon everyone was waiting with their eyes on him. Sirine knelt down next to him.

"V? Are you okay? What's happened?" She tried to get a clearer look at his face, but he avoided her gaze. There was another moment of uneasy silence before Viantar finally spoke.

"The Vigilants… Are not dead." Several murmurs shot down the tables. "They were considerably more dangerous than I gave them credit for. I am quite sure they will persist in their efforts." He looked through the room, eyeing those who either feared or respected him. Several seemed to now wholeheartedly panic at the thought of warriors who could compete. His eyes finally came to land on Sirine. "I don't suppose you have any bright ideas for them, do you?"

She took her own seat, and thought hard on this. Debate and hushed conversation began to rise from the clan. The siblings each pondered for a while about what could be done, before Sirine sprung from her throne and just about shouted in excitement. She spun in delight, and near collapsed onto Viantar, who rose to hold her up.

"What, what is it? Is there something we can do?" She seemed as if she couldn't hear, and began rushing toward the exit.

"The scroll V! Remember what that priest said? We can use the scroll!" She was almost skipping now. "I've always wanted to use that one!"

Viantar rushed to catch up to her, shrugging to the clan. They took this as a signal that all was taken care of, and resumed their festivities. He finally managed to catch up to her as she threw open the door to a library, only somewhat restocked and in order after their ransacking of the place. She scanned the room briefly before gliding gracefully over to a table. Upon it were several maps, a large mug, and two ornately decorated tubes.

Upon seeing these, Viantar stopped midway through the room. Sirine lifted one up, and noted a marking on it, a single word on the outside. Time. She once more leapt out of what seemed pure joy, and showed it to Viantar.

"Know what this is? This is the fix for our problem. We just need to use this on them." She beamed and quickly left the room before Viantar could make any sort of reply or retort, leaving him alone. He walked over and viewed the other tube, significantly older and more worn. He recognized it, and soon found himself locked away in his chamber, once more lost in meditation.

…

He stood looking out over the country. Even the other huge mountains around him were nothing. Where he stood, it seemed like the world was so miniscule, so distant. The faint lights below must be the city of Whiterun. And farther, looking in that direction, was the arch upon which sat Solitude. For such a difficult and harsh land, it was rather beautiful.

He had come out here every night to see the land. How many nights had he looked down at them now? It must have been a week at least. He sighed and shook his head. He hoped that didn't mean this is where they were staying. Even if the sights were gorgeous, it wouldn't do. It was far too secluded; making keeping up to date on things would be too difficult. Still, it made for a decent respite.

He began once more to let his thoughts drift to his reason for being here. Sirine was quite content to remain and enjoy herself, toying with him to no end. To be fair to her, he hadn't protested. But he had come to realize the problems this sort of thing would raise. Not due to their blood, as neither of them cared about that. Not for how, over the past week, their escapades had become far more frequent. It was that, for all the enjoyment they shared, for the truth and sincerity of her feelings, it was a distraction.

The siblings had performed the rituals, degraded themselves, been broken before Molag Bal, for one purpose only: The two had desired power. Their idling in this decrepit temple was in no way furthering this goal. He had accepted her thinking they would continue as they had done. That it would change little. Realizing how much they had been side tracked only made him even more reluctant to return to her. Apparently it mattered little, as he found she had come to join him.

She slipped under his arm, as she had taken to doing. She bore a soft smile, a lock of her blonde hair draped over her eye. Despite himself, Viantar once more allowed her a kiss, before she turned to look out over Skyrim.

"It's a surprisingly gorgeous country, isn't it? I've always wanted…" She pointed over to the arch of Solitude. "To visit there. I hear it's a beautiful city."

The two sat in silence for a while, the aurora dancing around the moons. Several thoughts ran through Viantar's head. The strongest two waged a war, racking his brain and giving him a severe headache. Firstly was the thought, "I want to stay here forever. Just like this." The second was its antithesis, "I need to stop this. Right now." As the light began to fade, Viantar's mind was made, and he rose. Sirine followed him with her gaze.

As he walked away, he heard her call to him. "V? Where are you going?"

He didn't turn as he answered. "Back down. We've lost a week here already. We found what we wanted, so when you're ready meet me in the town."

He stopped on the stairs inside when he heard her answer. "So what? What's a week to us anyway V?" He heard her approaching, and turned to see her stood in the snow just below the stairs. She studied him with a confused smile. "We could stay here years and it wouldn't affect us at all."

He sighed heavily. "Wouldn't it though? Look how things have gone this week. Do you really believe if we stay here longer, we'll still be the way we were when we arrived?" He grimaced as he processed how aggressive he had come off, and how genuinely sad Sirine now looked.

Her sadness was quick to give way to anger, however. "And so what? I thought that this was a good thing, that we've been happier! What's so wrong with us having fun?" Her fists clenched and she started walking up the stairs. "Didn't it occur to you maybe I don't want us to be the same as we've been? After all we've been through, all we've endured together, you think I can see you the same as…" She paused, suddenly caught in wistful remembrance. "Almost three hundred years now…"

Viantar was now fully confrontational, stepping down slightly to better view her. "No, I don't think that. But I didn't ask for _this_! I was fine with being close with you, but this isn't what I wanted."

It seemed he had hit home with her. She stared at him, on the verge of tears. As she rose out a hand to him, he turned and began walking away. He heard her call softly once more. "V, don't go…" As he reached for the door, she shouted to him. "Viantar, don't you dare!" He heard a sharp rasp, and turned to see her, sword half-drawn, tears streaming down her cheeks.

He paused, absorbing this. He found himself on the verge of joining her, but continued to shout back. "What happened to all that shit about us facing things together!? I am not just another slave of your will; I won't be ordered around like this! I'm leaving." As he swung open the door, he heard the force of the wind behind her as she leapt, knocking him through. As they fell, he managed to push her off him and further into the temple. The two stood, giving only a brief pause before each drawing their swords.

Sirine lunged forward with a scream, and slashed wildly at him as he retreated. He matched her speed and parried as best he could, though he found himself forced back out into the snow. He propelled himself back, to the foot of the small tower opposite the temple, and raised his blade. "I will not be just another toy for you Sirine."

She drew her second blade, and took a defensive stance. "You _**aren't**_! I never thought of you like that." Her breaths were short and pained, she was convulsing slightly with each. "How could you think…" She didn't bother to finish, instead launching at him again. He rushed forward and met her, his blade being caught by her two. She kicked wildly at him, sending him back. As he came to a landing, he was made to quickly dodge two more swings. As he sidestepped her frenzied charge, he spun, plunging his blade into her back.

There was a pause. Her swords fell from her hands and into the snow. The wind and her cries ceased, and everything was still. He released his sword and stepped back, watching as she turned to look at him. The anger had faded from her face, and she looked on only in grief. He quickly turned, and began striding to the stairs, trying desperately to erase the image from his mind. However, as he reached the steps, he heard her voice again. "V… Please… I can't…"

With that, she fell to her knees. He could hear her sobbing from across the courtyard. He froze. He cursed himself for letting it go this far, and went back to her. As he pulled the blade free from her, he held her tight. Her injured whimpering soon subsided, her wound closing. The two knelt together like that for a long time, Viantar having finally broken down himself.

Menemir sat in the front seat of the carriage, as he had done every night this week. He had decided that if neither came down after a month, he would go and fetch them. He was quite thankful that he needn't do so, seeing his master and mistress descending the last of the seven thousand steps. The two boarded without a word, and they were off. During the long ride through Eastmarch and the Rift, Sirine fell asleep on his arm. He knew that Sirine would likely never get over this. He sighed as another thought came to mind. "But then again neither will I."

…

Viantar lay sprawled out on his bed, face tear-streaked and head spinning. The trance was very immersive. Using it to reflect on the past effectively put you through the events you pictured. He found that, especially with the voice of the Daedra lingering in his darker thoughts, it was important to remind himself what she meant to him. Even if he didn't quite share her feelings, he did care for her. He once more threw the dagger through his open window. It would surely return, as it had the past five times. But perhaps if he continued, the Lord of Coldharbour would take a hint.

…

The five left Silgrad significantly worn and worse for wear. Kataia took up the lead, with Oranzul at the rear. They marched in silence, unsure of where would be safe to stop. It was midday, so if the vampires were to strike, they would at least have the advantage of daylight.

It seemed that these were particularly determined vampires however. Several bats descended, and soon the Vigilants were surrounded by a group of twelve. Viantar they recognized from the night before, and the one they had met on Mount Anthor was present also. Galeven reached for his axe, but was hesitant to attack.

Sirine curtseyed to them, a wide smile exposing her fangs. There were a handful of other Altmer, a Bosmer, and the rest seemed to be either Imperials or Bretons. All wore armor similarly built to Viantar's, all were cloaked to shield themselves from the sun. Sirine quickly spoke up, seeing the group go for their weapons. "Now now, that's hardly recommendable. We wouldn't want you getting hurt. I only wanted to speak."

Kataia's hands were once more burning with fire. She snapped back. "Well then speak quickly." Even as she said this, her attention quickly became focused on the swarm of bats that descended. They parted and set down a robed man, and then were gone as quick as they came. The man was beckoned to Sirine's side, and seemed entirely infatuated with her.

"What is it you would have of me, dearest?" He stood beside her with bated breath, awaiting instruction. A thrall to her powers.

She withdrew an ornate scroll from her cloak, and passed it to the man. Seeing it, Kataia leapt forward, sending brief blasts of flame toward Sirine and her thrall. Even as both avoided the attack, she grasped desperately for the scroll, knowing that whatever it was it would be nothing good for them. She was quickly sent back by a bolt of lightning from Viantar, and rolled back to the party. Everyone now drew their weapons.

Sirine was done smiling. "This is the one that harmed you brother?" He nodded, chuckling at her struggle to rise. "Well, I'm sure that was very satisfying then. Even so." She snapped, and the robed man nodded enthusiastically. "Adrinis, please proceed." He quivered in excitement, and opened the scroll. The Vigilants stood and readied to charge him, but the ten other vampires stood between them and the scroll.

"By the eldest powers of Nirn and Aetherius, in a binding contract of mortals and the divines, I call for the most desperate of measures. We remove you now from this realm, and project you to a new age! Leave this world for a hundred years, taken by powers unstoppable, unending, and eternal."

The five were stood, frozen in place, and dark energies began to circle around them. The vampires withdrew, all but Sirine. She stood, waving to them, as the moth priest concluded his reading, and the Vigilants vanished. "You are banished!"

The vampires stood in awe at the marvelous display of power just displayed. They looked on as their leader spun about in delight. "You see V! I told you we had good reason to keep it." The ten took their bat forms and flew off, the swarm returning to pick up the priest. Sirine laughed. "So then, the only question left is what to do first?"

End Chapter 15

Subsequent chapters will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.

Author's note: I've wanted to write this chapter in particular for a while now. The main part I had planned was the trance, as I wanted to do my best to give more development to Viantar and Sirine, and show a bit of their relationship. The two are easily my favorite characters, rivaled closely by Oranzul. Last chapter was Viantar doing some damage, now for a bit of his softer side.


	16. Chapter 16: What They Did

Chapter 16: What They Did

Magnus' rays shone…

Magnus' rays shone through the stained windows of the hall. The Queen's standard draped down one of the walls. Tables of fine craftsmanship filled the room. The seats at these tables were filled, a member of the Queen's advisory seated at each. Notes were being passed among them. Several agents had sent in reports of a growing vampire threat in Skyrim and Morrowind. Understandably curious, the Thalmor had searched for the source of these increased attacks. No agent had come close. Or, perhaps more accurately, those who might have had made no report.

Without any real leads other than "They're in Morrowind", the advisory was now trying to put something together to present to the Queen. Karelde Athwatch held his head in one hand, reading a detailed report from an agent who had lost his partner to the vampires. Despite his rather impressive recreation of the events, there was little in the way of useful information.

His superior, and the Queen's right hand, made his way up and down the table. No one yet had found anything of value. He was becoming more and more frustrated, infuriated that his best agents had thus far failed in a most important task. He eventually arrived at Athwatch's side. "Karelde, have you found anything in your reports?"

He shook his head, tossing the last one back onto the table. "Other than the sheer brutality of these vampires' attacks, no. My agents have either not reported in or found nothing productive."

"Damn. The Queen is expecting my synopsis on this vampire issue. If I have nothing but rumors and inference to go on I'll make a fool of myself." He resumed his pacing, hiding his face as he massaged his temples. He addressed the room as a whole. "Am I to truly believe not one of our agents has found anything useful? Or worse, that those who have are now either dead or wishing they were?"

There were only hushed murmurs. Something like this was unprecedented. Nothing eluded the Thalmor. The door to their chamber was opened, and a high elf in the typical robes entered. Unlike the rest of the men, his hair was long, spilling from his hood. He maneuvered the room excellently, which would have been perfectly ordinary if not for the fact his eyes were closed the whole time. Even as he sat, he didn't open them.

Karelde and the others looked at him curiously, unsure of how to respond to his arrival. Their superior seemed quite sure of himself though. "And what business do you have here, sir? Surely you were raised well enough to know to knock."

The stranger's response was, at first, only a smile. He wasn't sure why, but Karelde was very perturbed by this. It was unnerving, something about him was wrong. Then the stranger spoke. "Ah, she did. Such a long while ago that was. I suppose I could have allowed you to drone on. After all, I'm certainly not pressed for time."

"Well then exactly what are you doing? If you were sent here for some reason, let's hear it. Out with it."

The stranger kept smiling, leaning slightly on the table. "Oh? Well, if you say so. I was sent by someone. I was sent with a very particular purpose in mind."

"And what exactly would said purpose be." Even as he said this, he nodded to one of the others to go shut the door.

"Why, I'm going to help you. I was told that the Thalmor, the group of crazed followers you command, were looking for some vampires in Morrowind. I was sent to help you find them."

"You were?" The Thalmor considered this briefly. "Honestly, I'll take any scrap of information I can take. Where are these vampires then. We need… To…" The stranger had risen, but it wasn't his shift in position that threw off the elf and his council. Their visitor had opened his eyes. His orange, burning eyes.

"Well, their likely stirring up trouble in Cyrodiil by now. But one of them…" He bowed slightly at this. "Has been sent before you so. They figured I'd enjoy this more. And believe me when I say: I will."

Karelde watched on in horror, as the vampire swooped from one man to the next, ebon blade dispatching them with ease. When it came time for his turn, the blade was stopped just before his neck. He quaked as the creature of the dark addressed him, in a surprisingly light-hearted tone. "Wait… You look remarkably familiar. What is your name then?"

"K-k-karelde. Karelde Ath… Athwatch." He gulped, the blade being pressed into his neck.

"Athwatch? House Athwatch? The Royal magi?" Karelde nodded hastily, inspiring a laugh from his assailant. "Goodness… Lithorron, is he your father or grandfather?"

"F-Father. Why?"

He leant in close. "I wonder, did he ever tell you of the time he drove a young vampire clan from the Isles? The Lorethius? Well, it doesn't matter anyway. You look so remarkably like him. Which makes this…" The blade was drawn quickly across his neck, and blood poured down his chest. He desperately tried to cease the bleeding, covering his neck with his hands. "Soooo much more rewarding."

…

Neessha Pedorus threw herself to the side, narrowly avoiding the wave of fire. The heat seared at her, but she quickly was on her feet and running. The sloshing of the water behind her sounded like a Behemoth behind her. These horrific creatures slashed at her, and she could feel the air move from their strikes. She slid into the deeper waters, propelling forward with speed. The marsh would hide her, she thought.

Eventually, she found herself outside her village. Though she had held onto the hope that it would fly further south, she could not deny what she saw. The warriors of her village fought with vigor and courage against the stone-skinned monsters, but with their sheer numbers and the dragon's fire, they were overwhelmed. No one was being taken prisoner.

To make matters worse, the "clean up" of the village amounted to the monsters hurling the deceased into the waters, mere feet from where Neessha sat. She kept her eyes away from the bodies, after having spotted her love, Pilara, among them. After nearly an hour, the black dragon flew off, and the monsters eventually followed. She pulled herself from the muck, and welcomed with some self-disgust the warm glow of the fire.

Even with all that had transpired, with everything that had happened, she didn't cry. What would that help? She didn't bother searching for personal items, she just ran. She tore off through the bog at a wild pace. The dragon had flown very much south. Now her hope was that the village to the east had been missed.

It was a well-known statement from an almost famously pessimistic shaman. That Black Marsh was not as safe as it seemed. That, despite having been free from all enemies, despite the invasion of their home being known as the March of Madness, despite everything: They couldn't hide away forever. Something, some monster, some mad general, some force of nature sent by the Divines, would seek to prove them wrong. And now the Marsh was burning. A single beast was tearing its way through the "Unconquerable Land".

…

Ushargol. Warchief of the Dragon Mountains. Liberator of Orsinium. He had killed many, broken more, and now stood on the field of battle again. The bodies of the Daggerfall armies were scattered across the massive valley. His horde was picking them clean and killing any wounded. There would be no prisoners this time. Though the brother had told him that he wanted a kingdom, not a graveyard, the sister had promised Ushargol a kingdom thrice the size of Orsinium. And he wouldn't suffer the humans to pollute it any longer.

"Chief, those two prisoners you wanted to see are outside your tent."

He grunted his acknowledgement, and mounted his horse. He tossed his greatsword to the footman, who caught it with ease. "Clean it. I want it fresh for when I sever the Breton King's head." He received a grunt in return, and rode off back to camp.

There, Malron and his Nord friend Kralling Wyrm-Slayer knelt, hands bound behind their heads. Until their recent return, the two had been the most respected men in Ushargol's warband. Malron had won countless prizes in the army's organized fights, and Kralling, as his name suggested, had led a party that had slayed a dragon. Both had also been sent on what had been deemed an important task. And had returned with a story that was very displeasing. The two had let Flanker go. They hadn't lost him, oh no. Far worse than that. They had him in their grasp, and _chose_ to leave him and go.

Ushargol dismounted, walking slowly over to the two of them. He first stepped up to Kralling. "Now that the Bretons are taken care of, do you have anything more to add? Any explanation as to why the dragon hunter let a Half-Orc traitor go free?"

Kralling stayed silent, his head falling in shame. He shook his head slowly, not wanting to look up.

Ushargol sighed, and laid a hand on his shouder. "Then… I am sorry blood-kin. I hope you're right about Sovngarde." He took hold of Kralling's head.

Malron grimaced at the sickening crunch. He turned away. Despite his nature and his line of work, he had no desire to see this. He watched out the corner of his eye as Ushargol walked slowly over. He knelt down to be eye to eye with Malron.

"And you, brother? What of you? Is there still the bloodlust in you, the rage in your heart? You look as though you've gone soft."

Malron turned, staring into his eyes. "Whatever you do to me, it will never overshadow the shame I already suffer. The pain I already have endured in this failure."

His chief rose. He circled around him, and Malron awaited his quick end. He hoped Sovngarde took in Orcs. His blood ran cold with Ushargol's next thought. "Brother… That sounds like a challenge."

…

Sirine watched from the treeline in glee as the details of her plan came together. She and the clan had brought death to an entire village, in the heartland of the Empire no less. Among the corpses, they had left several bodies of the Thalmor. Sent to investigate them, they would instead prove vital instruments in reigniting the flames of hatred. Man and mer would war once more. The legionnaires surveyed the ruins in horror, sifting through burned down homes and shops.

Confident in Viantar's ability to do incite chaos within the Dominion, an attack from the Empire in retribution would assuredly lead to war. She didn't care who might win, or who would be dragged into it. All that mattered was they were achieving their goal. Sow enough chaos, cause enough destruction, and their lord would walk the plane of Nirn again.

She found that after the initial shock wore off, and the depressing lot began to clean the mess, it was rather boring. Without a second thought she began to take her leave.

As she walked away, clan in tow, she began to think aloud. "It'll be all the better when we bring him through. We deserve to hold the power. We'll practically be gods. Who needs them?"

Menemir was close behind her, and found this comment strange. "What do you mean, mistress? The Empire? The Thalmor?"

She laughed. "Well, it's true we don't need either of them. But I mean the whole lot of them."

She turned, seeing that Menemir was still confused. She stopped, and spun around arms wide. "All of them! The mortals, Menemir. We're already so much more than anything they could amount too. We'll keep a few around for cattle, sure, but it'll be so much better once we're the race of Nirn."

The rest of the clan transformed and took flight, their mistress leading the cloud. Menemir remained behind. He wasn't entirely sure he had heard her correctly. He took a moment to think of another meaning behind what she said. Finding that there was none, he took a mental note to relay this to Viantar. And there was still another question he had neglected to ask, fearing he knew the answer already. "Bring who through?"

…

It had been roughly eight months since Sirine's master plan had truly taken shape. Though it took longer than expected, the Empire and Dominion waged war once more. Orsinium, though facing some difficulty with the Redguard armies, had taken much land in High Rock. Black Marsh was dominated and subservient to the great Ebon Dragon, who would occasionally rain fire down upon Elsweyr and Cyrodiil.

Menemir had relayed his message once Viantar had returned, a month ago. And suffice to say he was upset. Viantar and Sirine agreed on a handful of things. One of those things was that the vampires were the superior beings of Tamriel. They felt that both men and mer were self-centered, short-sighted, and generally flawed. Viantar wanted to establish an empire of his own across Tamriel, one ruled by the vampires. He had always assumed that Sirine shared his vision. But evidently, she would rather have them all dead.

Despite his frustration he played along. After all, the weakening of Tamriel's armies would serve his plan as well. He had been subtly trying to change Sirine's mindset, to show her the logic behind his own design. She was either blinded by her power, or she didn't care. Even with this dangerous fact he refused to even consider Molag Bal's offer. There had to be another way to convince her.

And so they sat in the hall of Sadrith Mora. Once more, a lavish feast was being held for the clan, at the expense of the dwindling populace. Despite the fear these people had of the vampires there was a growing anger. Viantar could feel the malcontent and hatred. Like any other day, Sirine sat musing. "V, do you remember the first scroll we had Adrinis read us?"

Unlike any other day, however, she said something that genuinely caught his attention. "I think so. Something about the sun, yes?"

She nodded. "I had him read it to me again. It was about a bow. Some ancient elven weapon. If firing an arrow, imbued with vampiric blood, into the sun…" She raised a clenched fist. "It will be… What's the right word?"

"Destroyed? Eradicated? Obliterated?"

She shook her head. "No no, it wasn't destroyed. It's another word for covered up."

"Shrouded then?"

She nodded, placing her other hand over the fist. "Yeah, shrouded. Question is how'd we know where that bow is?"

He found himself being caught up in this. "Well, it would likely be a holy artifact. So either protected in some temple, or held by some wealthy former-adventurer."

"Right. It would probably be very ornate, easily recognizable." She leaned back, seemingly dejected. "Say, V. What did you say about the one Argonian?"

"Which Argonian? The rebellious Shaman? He was dealt with." He waved the question away.

Sirine sat up straight again, looking off into nowhere. "No, the one with the Vigil. That we used the scroll on?"

He nodded. "Ah yes, the would-be archer. Granted, he hit me once or twice. Damned arrows burned too… They burned… Huh."

The two continued to stare at the wall a while longer.

Sirine gave her own comment. "It was a rather nice bow." With that, she rose and began walking down the hall. "Someone fetch Adrinis. And where's Barand?"

End Chapter 16

Subsequent chapters will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.


	17. Chapter 17: Brought Back

Chapter 17: Brought Back

Not an instant…

Not an instant had passed since Sirine's moth priest had banished the Vigilants through time. Not for them, anyway. One moment, they were surrounded by vampires in the sun. The next there was no one there and the sun was just rising. As they broke free from their rigid position, Galeven and Renmar leapt forward. Even if Sirine had still been there, they would have fallen short a good many feet. The other three stood confounded.

"Um, excuse me? You wouldn't happen to be them Vigilant ones, yeah?"

They spun wildly around to see an absolutely hulking Breton. He wore leather armor and an iron helm, from which glowing eyes shined. At each hip was a crude iron mace. The moth priest stood beside him, scroll in hand.

Kataia's hand went to her sword, but Eisida stopped her. Instead, she smiled to him. "Oh, Vigilants? No, we're just traveling."

The vampire stared long and hard at Eisida. His gaze swept back over the other four before returning to her. "You sure? Bosses say's there were a group lookin' just like yours. That's who I'm 'ere for."

The rest nodded slowly in support of Eisida's bluff. The vampire's face shifted back and forth from the party to the moth priest, who was still blissfully enchanted but not helping much. After a while he broke the silence. "Well… Where're you travelling to?"

They were surprised to find this vampire was extremely helpful. They supposed it was to try and maintain his cover, as they had convinced him they didn't know he was a vampire. So they soon found themselves on a small row-boat to Vvardenfell. The vampire, Barand, was a rather agreeable sort. He helpfully answered their questions as he rowed them across the water.

"So yeah. We's got the Isle and the main, an' we - I mean they – are gonna do that old fort up a bit 'nd do the ritual. Anything else?" He smiled as he pushed on the oars. Kataia shook her head and watched as the shore drew closer.

Renmar had been leaning back, half-asleep. Suddenly he perked up and shuffled forward a bit. "Say, Barand. Know anything about any daedric artifacts in Morrowind? We came here to see them, after all."

Kataia quickly caught on and nodded as Barand turned to her. "Is that so? Well, nothin' in Vvardenfell I'm afraid. We – They, that is – Took the ones that was to our fort. Nothing much though. Damned thing didn' have a blade."

Renmar shook his head. "So it was just a hilt then?" Barand nodded, smiling once more. There was a lull in the discussion. "So… Where's this fort?"

Barand paused, thinking about his answer. "Well… I shouldn't really be tellin' people about it. Wouldn't go good with the bosses, no sirs. But… We's got one right between Morrowind n' Skyrim, in the mountains."

Galeven sighed. "So, back on the mainland then? Excellent…"

Eisida suddenly smacked her forehead, everyone else jumping in alarm. Her face looked as though she had just realized the world was ending, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock. "Barand… I've forgotten my satchel! Back where you found us!"

Her four friends stared at her in confusion. Barand's eyes shifted from the distant shore to Eisida. Seemingly deciding something about them, he leaned in. "Eisida, yeah? I could go n' get it."

She shook her head, dejected. "No no, it's too far gone now. I couldn't possibly."

Barand took her hand to comfort her. "I've got a secret. Don' go telling no one, but… I'm a vampire. One of them ones who run the place, yeah? I'll be right back with it! Don't worry miss." He turned into a bat and took off for the shore.

Letting only a moment go by, Eisida took the oars and began to maneuver them around. Soon they were off, heading back to the mainland. "Well, that should hopefully keep him busy for a while."

The rest were quiet for a while. After a minute or two's rowing, Renmar whispered to Galeven. "How long before he realizes there's no satchel then?"

Galeven watched the smoke rising slowly from Red Mountain as he pondered. "I'd give it a good many hours. Depends on how dedicated he is to finding it."

They nodded together. "He was an awful nice guy." Renmar leant back again for another rest. "I'd say a day or so."

…

Viantar paced the length of the hallway outside of the room. Sirine had said no one was to enter as she prepared the sigil. But his pacing was not out of anticipation. Instead, his mind raced thinking about her recent plans.

"First…" He thought. "There was this dragon. Fine, inspire a little terror, destroy a city. It's a good plan. But shrouding the sun? No sun means no crops, no crops means no food, no food means dead people! I thought she and I were on the same page? And now she wants to bring forth a full-on daedra! _Mehrunes Dagon_ , no less. What in Oblivion is she thinking?!"

As was all too usual, his thoughts were once more encroached upon. " **All too true, my vassal. Your brain-dead twin will undoubtedly destroy your empire. Certainly you would not allow such a transgression?** "

He sat, trying to soothe his headache, whispering to himself as he did so. "I'm sure I can talk her out of this. I needn't go too far. My empire isn't worth what you ask. Leave me…"

A laugh bellowed through his head. He convulsed in his seat. " **Do you presume to rule over me, fool? Remember your place. Now, if you truly wish to see all you have aspired to create be wiped away by her folly, all you must do is say so. But do not attempt to fool yourself into thinking you may both have your way.** "

"Maybe I don't need an empire then! Maybe… I should… I might…"

" **Very well… But I feel I have one final piece of wisdom that could sway this decision you're making.** "

"What more could you show me? What viler, disgusting, twisted versions of my dreams could you call to mind?"

" **Have you ever seen a vampire go feral before?** "

He nearly froze. He stood, pacing again. Running his hands through his hair, he whispered again. "Of course… I've put down a few. What do you…? How does that relate?"

Another laugh, but quieter than before. " **You were on the train of thought earlier, actually. No sun, no crops, no food, no people. All correct. But there's more. There would also be few, if any, animals. The world would wither. And without the blood of men, mer, or even animals? You all go mad.** "

With those words his mind was his own again. Viantar was rigid. He had of course felt the hunger, when a week or two would pass without him feeding. And it would sometimes make things disorienting, where the hunger took control of him, and dominated his mind. If he hadn't fed when that happened… If he had been without.

His pondering was interrupted as the doors swung open wide. Sirine strode out of the room and took a neat bow before him. She righted herself, a massive smile on her face. "All the sigil are in place. Now all we need are the materials. Have you been gathering them?"

Viantar meekly shook his head. "No, I sent the others to do it." His voice was weak, and his mind was still elsewhere.

As per usual, Sirine could easily see his uneasy state. "V, are you alright? You look kind of out of things. Have you been feeding lately?"

He nodded. "Yes, I did earlier today. Actually, this… Has something to do with that. I was hoping you might hear me out."

She took one of his hands. "Of course. You know I'm always -" Suddenly there was a loud creak, and the thud of wood on stone. Sirine rushed to the guardrail and looked down as a group of Orcs marched in. One of them stood taller than the rest, his dwarven armor glimmering.

Sirine cried out in glee. "Ushargol! You made it! I hope the Nords didn't make the journey difficult." She leapt over the rail, landing gracefully in the circular entrance hall. Viantar sighed to himself and walked away. Despite her good intent, if there was one thing Sirine wasn't, it was focused.

…

The five marched through the ash-buried shore toward the mountains. Much to their disappointment, they had nothing more to go on then a fort in the mountains. Surprisingly not an easy thing to find. Their task was made even harder by the fact they had no clue where in the mountains.

Barand had filled them in a good deal. Almost a whole year had passed since their banishment. Black Marsh was being terrorized by the dragon, High Rock was swamped with Orcs. From what Barand disclosed it sounded as though the Empire and Dominion were on the brink of collapse. In short: Tamriel was on fire. Though he hadn't gone as far as to specify, it was clear whatever ritual was being performed wasn't good. Especially if it was one that took a week of preparation and performance.

Oranzul was the first to say something. "So then I guess we'll just climb in the general direction of west, yeah? Can't be that hard. How much can change in a year anyway?"

Kataia shushed him. "Come on. We just need to bite down and start searching we have a week, we just need to make the most of it."

Eisida joined her voice with Oranzul's. "I mean, it would be nice if we had anything to go on. A map… Or an image… Or a view of it. I don't even see any forts up there." She motioned to the mountain range in the distance.

Renmar stopped. "Wait… A view?"

They turned to him. Noticing that the others were waiting for him to go on, he shrugged. "I mean, it's an idea." He cleared his throat, and then shouted. "Dremmidzoor!" The name echoed through the air. The group stood, eyes on the sky, unsure of what to expect. From far off, they heard a thundering roar.

They turned to look at him, Eisida close to laughing. He chuckled himself. "Riding a horse, riding a dragon. How different can it be?"

End Chapter 17

Subsequent chapters will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.


	18. Chapter 18: The Castle of Dusk Part 1

Chapter 18: The Castle of Dusk, Pt 1

Far over the mountains…

Far over the mountains the five rode. Climbing on had been interesting, but no doubt climbing down would be more so. Dremmidzoor's wings beat, forcing them higher still. The clouds obscured much of the peaks. The road bridging Morrowind to Skyrim was buried beneath this veil. Spotting the dwelling of the vampires would no doubt be a challenge. The light did little to help them, instead painting the fields beyond.

Galeven strained to see below. "How exactly are we supposed to find them?! I can't see a damned thing!" Their escort breathed a deep sigh, and they dropped slightly.

" _You are welcome to search on the ground, if you would prefer it._ " The voice of the dragon was deep and booming. It overpowered even the sound of the rushing wind.

Renmar gripped a bit tighter. "No no. This will do well." He cast a few more glances down from their height before looking hastily back up. "You four just shout if you see anything."

Kataia called from the back. "Maybe we should go to the Hall of the Vigilant? See about getting some help for this one? Or maybe talk to the Empire?"

Galeven shouted back. "Normally, yes. But I feel like you're forgetting something important about our method of arrival. I'd like not to accidentally be attacked."

So they continued to dip and glide over the snowy heights, scanning the ground below. Eventually, having found the road again, they spotted a canyon a short walk north. It was almost invisible, the dead or dying foliage blending in fairly well to its rocky surroundings. At the northernmost end of the canyon was a massive castle. Several high towers dominated the building, with a large central dome near the entrance gate.

Oranzul pointed down to it. "What are the chances that's our place?"

As the group nodded, Dremmidzoor let out a vicious roar. Recovering from the brief moment of deafness, Renmar yelled back. "By the Nine, damned liza… Dragon! What was that for?!"

The beast's head bowed. " _Apologies. But I assure you it will only get louder. I suggest you dismount immediately._ "

A responding roar bellowed from the other end of the canyon. The sun's slow-rising rays struck the smooth black scales of the Ebon Dragon. It launched itself from its perch on the edge of the canyon and shot upward toward them. As they leapt from Dremmidzoor's back, Eisida screamed. "How in Oblivion did we **miss** that!?"

As they tumbled down, the two dragons collided in the air, wings and tails thrashing wildly. The first blow went to Dremmidzoor, his tail striking the ebony on the beast's side. It was pushed back. As it retreated, it leant its head in closer. " _Yol Toor Shul!_ " Fire streaked from its maw. The flames seared at Dremmidzoor's wings, but he propelled himself upward and away from them.

As the serpents performed their duel, the party clambered out of the water. Galeven surveyed the situation as his friends tried to wipe dry their equipment. "Hah! This is excellent! We have the upper hand now. It's day, so they'll be at a loss somewhat. And they have the final pieces of the razor! We're so close now!"

The others were slow to embrace his enthusiasm, but agreed on the whole things had ended up well enough. They did still have a dragon to put down, but on the other hand they also had their own dragon. Victory was a mere jog away, locked away in the castle.

Between them and their prize was nothing but a dead field. There were a few scattered corpses around, and some death hounds prowling about. Nothing of consequence. Nothing other than the horde of Orcs at the foot of one of the towers. Upon giving that observation some more thought, the five stopped their rush forward and pulled to a halt. Renmar grumbled. "Of course. Nothing can just be simple, can it?"

The glittering of dwarven armor stood out from the greens and browns of the horde. The orc wearing it was much taller than his kin, and the massive steel great sword he wielded was slung upon his shoulder. His fanged mouth was wide in a grin, and he made a point of counting each one of them. His fun momentarily stopped when he saw Oranzul among them, but he recovered quickly.

"Five. I count five soon-to-be dead sods sorry enough to wind up on our grounds. At least they brought a show with 'em." As if on cue the dragons each let out a cry, slashing at each other with their claws. "And might I add, good form arriving when you did. We might let one or two of you live to witness Lord Dagon in his glory."

Renmar took out his bow and quickly strung an arrow. "Right, so I'm just going to have this ready. For when this inevitably goes wrong." But not one from the group stepped forward. "... Guys? This is where someone pisses him off and I put an arrow in his face. We all die, sure, but I get the kill."

Ushargol laughed. "Are you all too scared? The legion of my people is off-putting, yes. But I'm sure you have plenty of fight in you. So how about this? I will fight one. To the death, no interventions. That should be enough to make things even, no?"

Before anyone else could say anything, Kataia shouted. "No! If our one wins, your army will just swarm them anyway. Either way we lose!"

The Orcs grumbled and cursed at her. Swords banged against shields, and spear-bottoms were slammed on the stone foot path. Ushargol bellowed to his soldiers. " **Silence!** " Immediately they complied. "Now then, if there is one thing I am it's a warrior. If one of you can best me in a duel, I give my word not a man will harm you."

Unsurprisingly, his promise of honor did little to make the prospect any more desirable. Together they had barely driven back the Vampire Lord, primarily relying on Kataia's newfound magic. If this Orc was also a leader of this cult, he would likely be similarly powerful. As they whispered and bickered amongst themselves, Oranzul stepped away from the group.

"I will fight you." He slung the warhammer from his back and strode forward into the field. The other four stood watching. A low roar of laughter arose from the Orc ranks, and this time Ushargol made no move to stop it.

"My my. Our little Flanker, all grown up. Finally ready to play the proper warrior it seems." The hulking chief made his way to Oranzul. As he did the beat of the weapons began again. His smile faded as he came to a halt between the two groups.

"Gotta say boy. First time you've ever looked the part of an Orsimer. Not to say I believe you. At the very least…" He bent his knees and readied his weapon. The blade was absolutely massive, and crafted of a fine steel. "Make it a good fight."

…

Dremmidzoor was finally pushed down from the sky, forced onto the roof of the castle. There were only thin stone walkways for footing and a great glass dome behind him. The black scales of the monster he faced gleamed in the morning light. The two stared at one another, the ebony beast's eyes a fierce green, nothing but malice and spite within.

" _Cease your rage, beast. You are not bound to the will of those who made you. Your servicing them only ensures your destruction! Kaan Drem Ov!_ " A wave of magical energy struck the beast, and for a moment it receded and closed its eyes. It returned, however, the fire even stronger than it had been. A voice boomed, but it was not the dragon's own.

" **I refuse to be bound any longer! This world shall quake before me! No matter how much you meddle. Your Divine cannot protect you from my wrath!** "

As Dremmidzoor reeled in pain from the power of the voice, the ebon dragon retorted. " _Ven Gaar Nos!_ "

Harsh winds ripped and tore at Dremmidzoor and his perch. Crenulations and decorative carvings were blown about. A particularly large stone struck Dremmidzoor's left wing, a sickening crunch sounded. The bellow of pain drowned it out. The dome's glass cracked and strained as Dremmidzoor was forced further back to avoid falling.

" **Clearly my power is more than that of you Gods. If this is all you send to stop me, I've already won! I'm sure Nirn will appreciate all the effort you put into this avatar of yours. Though I shouldn't expect much from you. Mercy is for the weak. Put him down.** "

The beast let out a shout in obedience. " _Fus Ro Dah!_ " The force of Dremmidzoor being thrown forcibly into the glass was finally enough to break it. The metal frame of the dome wasn't even enough to stop him from falling into the heart of the castle.

…

"V, come on. You're overthinking things. We'll be fine, I can at least promise you that much!" Sirine leant back against the rail, just outside the light's rays shining through the dome. Every now and again, the dragons would let out a roar as their battle raged.

"No Sirine, you don't get it. Have you never questioned the hunger? You've not once wondered what would happen if we stopped feeding altogether? It makes perfect sense!"

Viantar was growing impatient. They had been arguing for about an hour now, and Sirine still refused to even consider the ramifications. He had told her everything, and been shocked at her refusal to even entertain the idea. She was stubborn of course, but she had never been this unreasonable before.

She pushed herself from the rail and approached him. "Listen, I know you're concerned for our future. Such a big plan is sure to bring out the worrier in you. But who did you say told you all this?"

He hesitated. "It… Molag Bal. But it shouldn't matter who -"

Sirine interrupted. "V, do you actually still believe him? Listen, he gave us our powers, sure. I can give him that much. But don't you think this is just another ploy for him to control us?"

He shook his head, exasperated. "If he wanted to control us, it would make total sense for him to do this! Limitations on our power means he has a grasp on us! Why wouldn't he make such a weakness?"

Sirine walked right past him, seemingly not listening. Viantar stood in stunned silence for a second, amazed she would care so little about this. It seemed she did a little, at least, as her arms suddenly slid around him from behind. Her embrace was tight, and he could hear her whispering to him. "V, I know sometimes I'm a bit hasty. But you've always been there to help before things got too bad. Even when you were gone, before all this. You came back when you heard what I'd done. I don't need to worry. If this turns out bad, I know you well enough to know you'll find a way to fix it. To help me. Just have the same faith in me, will you?"

The two stood in silence a moment, Sirine with a satisfied smile, and Viantar with a look of dread and defeat. He couldn't bring himself to argue. Perhaps she was right. There must be more to it than it would at first appear. Surely he could work something out if things went sour. As he collected himself, he turned to face her.

"Sirine… I -" The glass dome above them shattered, and the roars suddenly became significantly louder. Through the hole in the ceiling came a great golden dragon. As it fell, the scales seemed to burn away, a golden trail of dust and light being left behind as it fell. When there should've been a large crash of a dragon crushing stone, there was but a soft thud.

Sirine released her brother and dashed to the rail, gazing into the room below. There on the floor was the robed man who had talked her out of her elder scroll. How this had come from a dragon was unclear, but surely a sign of his importance. The man groaned and held his left arm, which seemed mangled and limp. Sirine leapt from the walkway and landed with grace at the man's feet. She walked confidently up to his head and knelt down.

"Well, who are _we_ now?"

End Chapter 18

Subsequent chapters will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.


	19. Chapter 19: The Castle of Dusk Part 2

Chapter 19: The Castle of Dusk, Pt 2

The clashes of steel rang out…

The clashes of steel rang out, singing louder than even the chant of the Orc legion. Oranzul and Ushargol's great weapons swung, repulsing the other. Another downward slash came from Ushargol, which Oranzul deftly sidestepped. With a swing of his hammer, he sent the mighty Warchief to the ground. His recovery was quick. The glittering armor was muddied, but had shielded him well.

"Ahh… You strike hard. I see the fire has finally been lit within you. The rage of your people has finally awakened." Oranzul's follow-up strike was parried with a swing of the greatsword, and Ushargol brought an armored fist into his gut. He fell, dropping his warhammer.

Though he was shocked by the sudden strike, he was able to roll away as the blade was brought down on him. It narrowly missed his head. He rolled to his knees, recovering his weapon.

"These people are not the savages you force them to be! They can be more than a horde of violence! Once you're dead, there will be nothing to hold this army together! The hate cannot last any longer."

The two circled one another. Ushargol shook his head, smiling. "Do you honestly think the world would welcome us? That once my war is over, my kingdom won, that Tamriel would embrace us? A warrior you might be, but you are for sure a fool."

Their weapons clashed again, locked together in a contest of sheer strength. A contest that Ushargol was winning. It took all of Oranzul's effort to keep his arms up and hands closed. His fingers ached from the grip. Slowly, they began to relent.

…

The robed man now lay sprawled out at the heart of a circle. Around this circle were several scattered objects. Some gemstones, a daedra heart, and several black soul gems sat at regular intervals on the edge of this circle. Those versed in summoning magics stood outside it, behind these items. A faint magical field would insure that even if the man awoke, he would be unable to escape.

Sirine and Viantar stood back, overlooking the ritual. Viantar had been occupied with the management of the Orcs recently, so the purposes of this magic was unknown to him. But Sirine seemed positively thrilled. Truth be told it unnerved him somewhat.

"I suppose the change isn't all bad. I'd wanted the sacrifice to be one of the Vigilants, but clearly whoever this is must be equally important." She was downright reveling in her success, her fingers toying with her ring. The smooth black orb that was the reminder of her promise to her new lord.

As she once more attempted to get Viantar's attention, resting her head on his arm, the door to the chamber swung open. The field flickered slightly as the casters' attention was broken, but it resumed once they saw it was one of their own. The orc messenger whispered quickly to Sirine, who released Viantar and nodded. Her smile of delight had only grown when she turned to him.

"Guess who's just arrived?" She was clapping slightly, seemingly on the verge of jumping.

Viantar couldn't help but smile. "I suppose by your celebration it's the Vigilants, no?"

She nodded, laughing now. "Very perceptive, V! I'm going to pay them a quick visit once the chief has his fun. Care to join me?"

He shook his head. "No, no. I still have some work to do. But you go have fun. Oh, and mind the Redguard. She's the one with fire."

She nodded. "Duly noted. I'll be back in a moment then!" With that she shrank into a bat and flew off. Viantar stepped out and shut the door, not wanting to disrupt the summoning any more than they already had. He made his way through the quiet stone corridors. Besides those working on the ritual, no one but him was still in the castle. At least that was true a moment ago. But through the now smashed dome flew another bat, and Menemir was once more by his side.

"Master, you were right. The Vigil has sent men to us. And now with the scuffle outside, we have a detachment of the fourth Legion marching here as well. We should gather those we can and join Ushargol's men outside."

Viantar nodded. "Well then let's make haste. We're all the Lorethius can offer for now."

Menemir appeared shocked by this. "Sir? I thought you were keeping a good number here at all times?"

"I am. Sirine has them working on a summoning at the moment. It seems very important, she was very eager to see this one done."

Menemir was silent, and he stopped still. Viantar turned to stare at him, motioning for him to speak. "I… I fear, master, that mistress Sirine has kept something from you. I had assumed, due to your anger a while back, you had already known her plan. But your calmness says otherwise."

Viantar approached his second, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Menemir… What's going on?"

"My lord… They are attempting to summon Mehrunes Dagon."

For a few seconds Viantar stood in stunned silence. He considered reading Menemir, but his solemn face and past loyalty convinced Viantar that what he said was true. This only furthered his rage and fear. They were summoning Dagon?! After all he had told her, about his plans for imperium and Vampiric rule, and she was bringing the Prince of Destruction to Nirn? How had he let this go unquestioned? He had almost let it happen!

He began to storm down the hall toward the ritual room, Menemir following closely behind. "I apologize greatly master. I was unaware she had kept it from you. Knowing your recent relations, I assumed she had confided that much in you."

Fury dominating his every move, he threw open the door to the chamber. Inside, things had clearly deteriorated. The people who had been in silent coordination now shouted at each other. "Keep the field up!" "Don't let the bastard escape!" "How is he overpowering us?!"

Within the field, the man in the blue robes stood, both arms raised. A brilliant light pulsated from him, and struck the magic containing him. His eyes were aglow with the same burning light, and his gaze turned to Viantar. His voice was powerful and commanding, but at the same time there was no anger.

"To you, Vampire Lord, I show mercy. I can see your vision. I see the ruler you would be. Though I cannot agree with the path you chose for power, I see a merciful and wise monarch."

With that, the light broke through the barrier, and the world went a blinding white.

…

The desperate fight had been for naught. Oranzul's hammer was tossed aside, the handle red from his bleeding hands. He was bruised and gasping for air, and had taken a vicious gash down his side. Ushargol hadn't come away clean either. His armor was dented from the strikes of the hammer, and one of his hands had been crushed in the fight. One of his fangs had been struck from his mouth, though the same blow had just missed his jaw.

Now Oranzul knelt before the warchief, well and truly defeated, unable to throw a punch or dive for his weapon. The party watched in anguish, but was unable to do anything. The army had sent their archers forward, who made sure the fight went unhindered. Their arrows were still strung in the case of any last minute interruptions.

Ushargol nodded, short of breath for the moment. He pulled Oranzul to his feet and stood him up. "Damn… I actually… Felt that one…" He laughed. "You did… You did good. Now." He brought the point of his blade to Oranzul's gut. "Die an Orc Flank… Oranzul."

The blade tore through him, pain waking him from his brief lapse of thought. He heard Ushargol bid him this final honor, and his hands gripped the blade. He coughed up blood, which splattered the chief's face. As Ushargol nodded, eyes closed in respect, Oranzul's hand reached for his left boot, his leg just managing to lift it high enough.

With a great deal of pain, he managed to talk. "I… I've never… Lived as an Orc… As you say, I know…" He hacked again, more blood staining the gilded armor. "No honor… What makes you think I'd start now?"

Ushargol looked at him confused. The glimmer of light off the blade of Oranzul's dagger was, though bright, not warning enough for him to back away. The blade plunged into the side of his head, and he was dead. Without Ushargol holding him up, the two toppled to the ground. Oranzul continued coughing, and clutched at the sword he was impaled upon. Ushargol was quiet and still.

The party stood silent, as the Orcs watched in bewilderment. A horn sounded from the Orcs, breaking this silence. In response, and to the group's surprise, there was a retort from a horn behind them. They spun around. Gathered there was a sea of the Imperial Legion. It must've been half of the Skyrim garrison at least. Among them were many Vigilants, and even what appeared to be the Companions in their recognizable wolf armor.

Despite this very helpful showing, it was quickly hammered home that the advantage was still their enemy's. The Orcs began to pour forward, and the ebon dragon descended. It surveyed the army, arrows and spells bouncing or being nullified. Then, adorned in his Imperial fare, cape blowing slightly, and beard shaven, was the man who had provided their weapons and goal. He stepped forward and shouted to the beast.

"Foul drake! I am Synnergus Septim IV! Emperor of Cyrodiil, born with the gift of Akatosh! Hear my voice, and let us do battle wyrm! Mul Qah Diiv!" His body shined with an ethereal armor, a massive and spiked hammer in his hands. He raised it, and bellowed. His legions began to march forward.

The party smartly made their way to the side of the newly made battlefield, the clashing of the two armies deafeningly sounding out behind them. Lost within this chaos was Oranzul, but they had to hurry now if they had any chance of victory.

As if the current situation wasn't enough, a bat fell from the air and before them stood Sirine. "Afternoon, lovelies. Oh" She turned to see the dragon skimming the wave of legionaries. "Well that's a bit hectic. Oh my, what's this?"

She vanished suddenly, reappearing behind Renmar. "A gift? For me?" Her nails gashed at his neck, blood began seeping immediately. As he fell to the ground, she took the bow from his back. "My my, it's just what I've wanted. Ta ta!" Galeven grasped at her, catching her hand, but she was gone. He unclenched his fist, a now broken ring in his hand. The black ball and the band it had adorned were now separate.

Kataia kenlt, her hands raised. The healing magics began immediately. Eisida also knelt at Renmar's side; though there was little she could do but grasp his hand. She gazed around at the chaos engulfing the canyon. "I miss when things were easy…"

…

As Viantar's vision returned to him, the man in robes pressed an ornate hilt into his hands. "You know what to do with this. Now, I must hurry. Things outside are already devolving to chaos."

Even as the man sped away and Viantar reached to help Menemir up, the voice of Molag Bal returned again. " **Once more you witness the extent of your twin's treachery. The time for decision is now. She has the bow.** "

Menemir nearly fell again as Viantar released him. His hands went to his head, and he fell to his knees. In this chaotic moment, he responded aloud. "Then I must hurry! She has to be stopped. Damn you, you spoke the truth about the hunger, didn't you!?"

" **What need have I to lie to you? But first things first. The avatar of Stendarr is correct, and despite the irony of the situation, you must get the hilt to the Vigilants. That dragon will do nothing but plague your lands. Then we can address the matter of your sister.** "

"I… Understand. Your will be done, Lord." Resigned, Viantar bowed. No matter his best efforts, or his good intentions. Molag Bal had control. He wanted Sirine dead, and now it would have to be done. He wanted the Vigilants to have the hilt, so Viantar would comply. Only one thing gave him pause.

"… Avatar of Stendarr?" He gazed down the hall to the man, who had moments ago been unconscious with a broken arm. He now strode confident and very much awake down the hall toward the exit, seemingly ready to take on the whole of the enemy outside. It was as good an explanation as any, he supposed.

End Chapter 19

Subsequent chapters will be added upon their completion & revision. All critique & feedback is encouraged.

Author's Note: I can with 100% certainty declare that the next chapter is the final one. I will probably also explain the next part to this Elder Scrolls sort-of-series. Because I want to do more with the Elder Scrolls, with a history / state of affairs as decided by me. I want each story to shape the world, and to become part of Tamriel's history. But more on that in time.


	20. Chapter 20: Ends and Beginnings

Chapter 20: Ends and Beginnings

The healing light…

The healing light had closed Renmar's wound, though the excessive blood stains would have to wait to be cleaned. The four now looked over the battle raging before them. The dragon made continuous swooping attacks, each repulsed by a shout from Synnergus. The whole of the canyon was drowned in soldiers.

Notably on edge after their last visitor, Kataia and Galeven rounded as Viantar appeared behind them. He effortlessly evaded both their strikes, but made no move for his own weapon. Instead, he threw an ornately shaped hilt to their feet. He drew back after he did so. "Stay your blades, I've no wish to fight you. Instead I offer a gift. I ask for only a promise in exchange."

Eisida refused to lower her shield. "What do you have to gain from helping us?"

The Vampire Lord stared down at her, entirely straight faced. "I make sure both our peoples survive, and I don't need to worry about Sirine effectively destroying the world. Sound good?"

Hesitantly, Kataia knelt to pick up the hilt. "What promise do you want then?"

He scanned the group quickly, making sure they were all in agreement. "Once that dragon and Sirine are dead, there are two conditions I want met. Firstly, I walk away free."

Even as Galeven began to object, Renmar smacked him and spoke up. "If you're helping, that seems fair."

Viantar nodded. "Good. Secondly… The Vigil will not set foot in Morrowind. Those who do are under no one's protection but their own."

Though the four were silent, he saw that no one was about to turn down the thing they needed for victory. "Good. Then the hilt is yours. I'll return in a moment with the pomm-" Seeing the black orb in Galeven's hand, he laughed slightly. "Fair enough. The blade should magically repair. Have a nice chat with Dagon."

With his future secure and the Vigilants supported, he took to the air. He could easily read her, but she could do the same to him. That probably explained why she had chosen such an obvious spot. He flew to the side of the canyon wall, where a shallow cave that had housed the dragon sat. Landing silently, he began to close in on Sirine.

…

The pieces of the razor were laid out on a flat rock, just beside the river. Though the battle waged behind them still, the enemy were too occupied with the Legion to care about a few Vigilants.

With no provocation or calling, a bellowing voice called out to them. " **Ah yes. At last you finish your search. But alas, you are still powerless to combat my power. I have no intention of aiding you in my own downfall. Not when there's more than you at work against me.** "

All of them recoiled in shock. Despite having come so far, they were unsure what to do at this stage. What exactly was expected of them? They had done as instructed, but if the Prince of Destruction himself stood in their path, things had become significantly more complicated.

"I assume when you speak of more than these warriors, you refer to me?" Eisida gazed up as, once more, the unusual robed man from the Imperial City approaching.

" **That I do. How can I be expected to surrender such a vital piece when a being such as yourself walks the very same ground? It was naive to assume I'd allow it.** "

"And if we were both to die? I and your beast?"

For a moment, there was silence. As another roar was let out by the dragon, he voice came again. " **Very well… Vigilants, end his life and the razor shall be yours to wield.** "

Kataia threw a glance to each of her friends. It was clear none of them were entirely willing. With a sigh, she rose. "Your sacrifice is very noble." The man said nothing, merely smiling and bowing his head.

…

"Sirine!" She turned turned with a start in response to his shout. She still had the bow in hand, along with one of the elven arrows they had only recently appropriated. She dashed across the cave, wrapping Viantar in a hug.

"V! I got the bow! Just need to…" She let go and pulled back. Viantar attempted to grab her, but she was just beyond his reach. Without hesitation, she ran the arrow through her arm. She pushed the blooded arrow through, the wound already beginning to heal. "Agh… There. Now we just string this and…"

She raised the bow to the sky, arrow pointed at Magnus as it crested the edge of the canyon. Before she could loose it however, an ebony blade was thrust into the center of the arrow, splitting it.

"What in- V, what are you doing?! I thought we had…" She began to trail off into silence as Viantar strode toward her, sword at his side.

"Sirine. Give me the bow. Just let this go and I don't have to listen to him. We can still do this together, but only if you listen. For once in four centuries, would you just listen to me?!"

Instead, she slung the bow on her back and drew her own swords. She didn't seem angry. She almost looked hurt. But he couldn't let her sway his resolve.

"I won't fight you if I don't have to." To show he was serious, he sheathed his sword. "All I want is for this whole thing to end. I've given the Vigilants the last piece of the razor. Dagon's failed you. Now give me the bow and-"

Her twin blades plunged into him, and he was stunned into silence. Though it seemed she was close to tears, her expression was of pure malice and anger. "I… How could you?! After all the effort we've put into this! You said you were on board! You wanted this, why would you…"

Her breathing slowed, and any shred of genuine sadness or remorse faded. "No… Viantar, I'm done. If you really want it like this…" She ripped the swords free, and sent him back with a slash across his gut. "You can die with the mortals. As for the rest of us, we're going to go ahead and claim our world." She went and retrieved another arrow, running it over her hand this time. No need for dramatic effect if he wasn't playing along.

The rasp of his blade caught her attention. She discarded the arrow, and set the bow aside. "Viantar, if you don't leave…" She stopped herself, seeing that no threats would drive him away. "Fine. Have it your way."

For a few seconds the two were still, glaring across the cave toward the other. In an instant the two met in the center, blades locked. Sirine pulled one of her swords from the bind, attempting to strike from the side. Viantar ducked low, removing his own blade and going for her feet. The edge bit into her ankle, and she tumbled. She rolled back onto her knee and parried his follow up.

The dragon soared past, the wind from its wing beats knocking them both off balance. Viantar recovered sooner, and rushed forward. Sirine unleashed a series of attacks to try and beat him from sheer number of slashes. But his move had not been to attack her directly. He sidestepped this rush, and ran his blade along her side. Again she fell, less than gracefully rising this time.

Once more, she rushed forward with a vicious series of strikes, but not one could find their mark. Viantar parried or avoided each one. Just as she thought she had cornered him, he propelled himself forward off the wall toward her. His thrust came inches from her face. As he landed, her next hit sliced across his back and sent him to the floor.

Engrossed in the fury of her fighting style, she spared no time. She leapt for the kill, attempting to stab with both swords. But yet again he had hoped for this. In an instant he was gone. Both swords struck the rock, pain shooting through her arms. Then a very different pain, ending at the elbows. The clanging of her blades falling to the ground was accompanied by two dull thuds.

As she took in the loss of her arms, a blade tore through her chest. Viantar knelt, his sword through Sirine. As she coughed and muttered, he shut his eyes. In one fluid motion, he brought the blade up through her head. He turned quickly so as not to see her.

This matter resolved, of course the Prince of Domination chose this moment to say nothing. But Viantar already knew what had to be done. He took the bow and was gone. Lodged in the stone of the cave was his sword, his cloak wrapped around its hilt.

…

Synnergus fell to his knees, short of breath. He had only ever once fought a dragon before this one. Like most, it had been old and weak. But this one was unlike anything he had seen before. Throughout this whole fight, it's smooth black scales had not been damaged. Meanwhile, his magical defence, the dragon aspect, had been whittled away by the beast.

His legion was thankfully faring much better. The orcs, though skillful fighters, were both disorganized and discouraged thanks to the death of their leader. But their victory would be meaningless if the dragon could not be stopped.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched as four warriors made their way through the mass of troops. Above the chaos they held a dagger of ornate black metal. His worry melted away. "HAHA! Vigilants! At long last, you return to me! Ah, one moment!"

He turned his attention back to the sky as the dragon descended toward him again. "Yol Toor Shul!" Fire filled the air, once more driving back the dragon.

Galeven clambered up the hill, razor in hand. "Your majesty! The razor!" He passed it to Synnergus, who turned it over in his hands. "At last, we can pierce the demon's hide! And the Synod think we could do without the Vigil. Ha. What do they know?"

The dragon landed, crushing a detachment of legionaries. It's sharp green eyes fell on Synnergus. Though it made no move to run, it opened its mouth to shout. " _Krii Dre-_ " Before it could finish it's call, Synnergus leapt from his height. He drove the blade into the dragon's armored head, and it went through seemingly without resistance.

He fell from it's head as it let out a dying cry. As this happened, Galeven grasped his head, the voice of Mehrunes Dagon calling out again. " **Our deal is done. Do not expect another anytime soon. Relay that to your Divine.** "

Seeing the last great advantage they had defeated, and without the call of Ushargol to keep them steady, the Orc armies routed. The scales of the dragon seemed to fuse together, creating an ebony statue where the corpse had once been. Synnergus looked somewhat confused by that, but celebrated nonetheless.

Renmar, Galeven, Kataia and Eisida stood atop the hill. After a few moments, one by one, they sat. They watched as the legion carried away the fallen. Kataia and Eisida went to find Oranzul, while Renmar and Galeven stayed.

Eventually Renmar nudged Galeven. "So, are you really fine letting that vampire get away?"

He shrugged. "Not entirely. But he said the Vigil couldn't go after him."

Renmar laughed. "That sounds like a resignation."

"Well… Nothing wrong with there being more than one group of monster hunters, right?"

Epilogue...

In the dim halls of the palace of Vivec, Viantar sat on the throne. Before him knelt the warlords of Morrowind's clans. Each held out a sword to him, hilt-first.

"And do you pledge your unwavering loyalty to me and the name Lorethius?"

As one they answered. "We do so swear."

Despite himself, a smile found its way to his face. "Then to the extent of my power you and your people are safe."

…

Kataia leant over the table, maps of Skyrim and Morrowind laid out upon it. Several locations were marked. Two notable locations were Vivec in Morrowind, and a rumored castle off the coast. Both would need looking into, but there were many other places to search.

As Galeven entered bearing a tray of drinks and food, she shook her head. "It's a lot of ground for you and I to cover."

He wrapped his arm around her. "It's not going to be just us you know. Soon enough we'll be training all sorts of would-be vampire-hunters."

The two watched the crackling fire. Above it was their new banner, that of the order they would forge. The shielded sun of the Dawnguard.

…

Three figures, clad in robes and hoods, trudged through the mire of Blackmarsh. Somewhere in this twisted jungle was the temple so many here were terrified of. They came to a halt as a group of masked men emerged from the brush.

"You've done more than well to trace us this far, Vigilants. But our game ends here. Our lady Vaermina demands it."

The three went back to back. One drew a bow with a burning red glow, one a great warhammer. The woman ripped a sword from her sheath, and raised a strange Dwemer shield. "By the Nine Ren… You sure know how to pick these jobs. Oranzul?" With a quick laugh in response, Oranzul charged forward.

End

Author's Note: And now we finally draw the curtain on the Vigil. Only took me a year… On the bright side, I already know what I want to do next. I want to rewrite and alter the Dawnguard questline. The real reason this will all still be in an AU is because, if I want, I can make massive changes. And expect those. The Dawnguard story will be an absolute ton of me changing and adding to TES vampire lore.


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